Here’s my attempt at the Sunday Scrawl prompt challenge, which I recently begun myself; it runs from Sunday on a weekly basis (so you still have all week to enter)! If you want to know more about this challenge, click here.
Seven o’clock has been and gone; that huge clock tower at the riverfront informed me several minutes ago. England, it was so obvious about everything. There was no secrecy – no discretion.
He had discretion, though, and a lot of it, too. Perhaps that’s why he was late; perhaps he thought to trick me somehow. I couldn’t think why, though. Why would he, my – was client the right word? Why would he want to attack me? I was the one getting the job done.
Unless he’d turned me over to the authorities already.
I cast a furtive look about me, eyes narrowed. It’s risky business, meeting beforehand, but he insisted. Was that his plan – to turn me in? To make me appear the crook? No doubt he’d want to get in their good books, thinking it good insurance for the next stunt he tried to pull.
I should have known. He didn’t have the guts for this. All along, he was just a coward – a waste of my time and energy.
The bells about the clock tower ring again, telling me it’s quarter past. I sigh, looking towards the Palace of Westminster. They’re in there now, I think, with all their big words and opinions. They feel so safe – so protected – in their big building with all those guards outside. They think they’re keeping us all out, I think, smirking.
Then I sigh, turning back to the riverfront, only to jump back slightly. He’d arrived, his hat slanted to one side slightly, and the flicker of a smile playing about his lips.
“You’re in trouble,” he wheezed, and I turned back around once more to see the Palace of Westminster blocked out by the unwelcome shadow of our mother.
“Sneaking into Westminster for a stink bomb!” she cried. “What next?”