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Arsenic and old lace
#WritcoStoryPrompt7
The old woman dropped her purse, spilling its contents all over the sidewalk. He rushed ahead to help her stopping short when he saw the gun under the purse. It was a black coloured pistol, closely resembling a Glock-17. He was surprised to see an old woman, frail as she looked - like wrinkled paper, as old as his grandmother, brandish a pistol. "What's the world coming to, or has already come to, in this case?", he thought to himself. He handed the gun, it was lighter than he expected, to the lady, who took it gratefully. "Thank you, my child. At this age, climbing the sidewalk is a major headache for me. I often lose my balance. It’s very kind to stop and help me, most people wouldn't bother. ", she said, pulling her sweater tighter around her. All the time she was talking, she was using the gun as talking aid, moving her hands expressively, while holding the gun. He tracked the gun's movement minutely, scared that in her overzealous speech, she may accidentally discharge the firearm. He realised she had moved on to some another story that involved her children, and probably grandchildren. He was mentally plotting ways to get out of this crazy situation without being punctured by a bullet. "...and it was his birthday. And what could I buy for him with my limited income. Then I chanced upon this gun, and I was so relieved. Not only it fit under my meagre budget but it also looked like the real deal. What do you think?". "Is the gun not real, ma'am?", he asked, his only take away from her verbal diatribe, fear lacing his words. "This thing? Ha-ha, no! This is a water pistol, I got for my grandson's birthday, he's obsessed with guns. I just told you about it. Weren't you listening to me?", she asked, miffed. "Thank the good Lord in the heavens above. I almost had a heart-attack when I saw it under your purse! It looks so realistic, sheesh. ", he exhaled loudly, relief spreading through his body. "Oh you think so? I'm so glad if a grown man like you was taken in by the gun, then my grandson will totally buy it.", her feeble voice crackled in joy. "Oh look at the time, I must be on my way as the birthday party will start in an hour or so and I have to get this gift wrapped, too. Thank you so much young man. ", she leaned in to him, holding his forearm for support, giving him a hug and a peck on his cheek. He felt a slight pinch on his forearm, where she held him, maybe her nails dug in? "Bye ma'am. Please be careful when you cross the road!", he said, happily, rubbing the itchy spot where a tiny indentation had formed. She turned and gave him a wave with her frail arms, moving away as she walked across the pavement. "Victim spotted and required liquid administered. ", she said, her voice all hard and professional, "The man didn't suspect a thing. The poison has been injected into his system, without any trouble. Yea, I used the water pistol and grandson story, it never fails. Who would suspect a frail, old grandmother to be a mercenary on hire? Please inform the client the victim has minutes to live before he collapses in an agonized bundle, guest of this earth for a few more minutes. Yea, where's the next target located?", she spoke into her earpiece.
The young Samaritan felt a burning sensation, with the forearm its epicentre, spread through his body. His legs collapsed as he fell on the sidewalk. It felt as if he was on fire, his body lay twitching, his mouth started to drool, foaming at the mouth. In minutes, he lost consciousness, and in a few more, his life.
The old lady never turned back. Her confidence in her skills, immense. She pulled the strap of her handbag tighter across her shoulder, and soldiered on. Her mind already plotting the next target's demise, the last one, just a statistic, another notch in her belt.
© Natasha Sharma.
The old woman dropped her purse, spilling its contents all over the sidewalk. He rushed ahead to help her stopping short when he saw the gun under the purse. It was a black coloured pistol, closely resembling a Glock-17. He was surprised to see an old woman, frail as she looked - like wrinkled paper, as old as his grandmother, brandish a pistol. "What's the world coming to, or has already come to, in this case?", he thought to himself. He handed the gun, it was lighter than he expected, to the lady, who took it gratefully. "Thank you, my child. At this age, climbing the sidewalk is a major headache for me. I often lose my balance. It’s very kind to stop and help me, most people wouldn't bother. ", she said, pulling her sweater tighter around her. All the time she was talking, she was using the gun as talking aid, moving her hands expressively, while holding the gun. He tracked the gun's movement minutely, scared that in her overzealous speech, she may accidentally discharge the firearm. He realised she had moved on to some another story that involved her children, and probably grandchildren. He was mentally plotting ways to get out of this crazy situation without being punctured by a bullet. "...and it was his birthday. And what could I buy for him with my limited income. Then I chanced upon this gun, and I was so relieved. Not only it fit under my meagre budget but it also looked like the real deal. What do you think?". "Is the gun not real, ma'am?", he asked, his only take away from her verbal diatribe, fear lacing his words. "This thing? Ha-ha, no! This is a water pistol, I got for my grandson's birthday, he's obsessed with guns. I just told you about it. Weren't you listening to me?", she asked, miffed. "Thank the good Lord in the heavens above. I almost had a heart-attack when I saw it under your purse! It looks so realistic, sheesh. ", he exhaled loudly, relief spreading through his body. "Oh you think so? I'm so glad if a grown man like you was taken in by the gun, then my grandson will totally buy it.", her feeble voice crackled in joy. "Oh look at the time, I must be on my way as the birthday party will start in an hour or so and I have to get this gift wrapped, too. Thank you so much young man. ", she leaned in to him, holding his forearm for support, giving him a hug and a peck on his cheek. He felt a slight pinch on his forearm, where she held him, maybe her nails dug in? "Bye ma'am. Please be careful when you cross the road!", he said, happily, rubbing the itchy spot where a tiny indentation had formed. She turned and gave him a wave with her frail arms, moving away as she walked across the pavement. "Victim spotted and required liquid administered. ", she said, her voice all hard and professional, "The man didn't suspect a thing. The poison has been injected into his system, without any trouble. Yea, I used the water pistol and grandson story, it never fails. Who would suspect a frail, old grandmother to be a mercenary on hire? Please inform the client the victim has minutes to live before he collapses in an agonized bundle, guest of this earth for a few more minutes. Yea, where's the next target located?", she spoke into her earpiece.
The young Samaritan felt a burning sensation, with the forearm its epicentre, spread through his body. His legs collapsed as he fell on the sidewalk. It felt as if he was on fire, his body lay twitching, his mouth started to drool, foaming at the mouth. In minutes, he lost consciousness, and in a few more, his life.
The old lady never turned back. Her confidence in her skills, immense. She pulled the strap of her handbag tighter across her shoulder, and soldiered on. Her mind already plotting the next target's demise, the last one, just a statistic, another notch in her belt.
© Natasha Sharma.
