The Violinist

As the music builds up in his headphones, he instinctively leans against the wall beside the door…waiting. When the dull light illuminates the room from the bright corridor his head moves ferociously as the violinist plays with so much passion it moves him. She closes the door and flicks on the light switch. He appears, the music in full flow, hammer in hand. With one quick movement he plunges it into her skull. He smiles and moves his hand to the music like a conductor as he watches the blood pour onto the hardwood floor. He smiles as her open, dead eyes scream in fear. He leaves the room, taking the booties off of his shoes before stepping into the hallway so as not to leave any trace of his presence. He closes the door with a handkerchief his father had given him which was hand embroidered by his grandmother, satisfied he had done a good job. He crams the booties into a zip lock bag, pocketing them along with the handkerchief. As the music finishes, he feels the sort of satisfaction that he presumed the violinist felt as she struck her bow to the strings for the last time.