“Address of target?” “33 Cherry Tree Drive, Marehamby, Lincolnshire,” said Ronald Digby, adjusting thick-lensed spectacles. “What’s, er, what’s the cost?” On the other side of a burnished desk, a grey-suited young man (“Just call me Steven”) fingered his blond ponytail. “We’re speaking the same language, yes?” “Uh-huh” “Well, assassinations are twenty thousand for domestics, fifty … Continue reading Little Pricks in the Night
(200 words) Faster than the speed of sound he flew on a November afternoon. He’d heard it said that his kind had killed untold millions of people and animals.