The Killer

I’ve been keeping an eye on him for a few weeks.
He will never know though.
Because every day I’m someone else. New face, new identity.
I’m good at disguising myself.
It didn’t take long to know most of his life.
He’s a business man. No family. No life.
He’s tall, skinny, and awkward looking.
Every morning, he drives a few blocks to Starbucks.
He orders a coffee with two shots of espresso, one squirt of milk and one Sweet-and-Low.
He takes a free newspaper that will sit in his drivers’ seat all day, untouched.
He gets back into the car and drives the rest of the way to work.
He sits at his desk all day, doing work that could put anyone to sleep in a heartbeat.
He takes a lunch break. He eats his turkey salad with light ranch dressing and a Diet Pepsi.
When all his work is done, he leaves to go home, where he watches the news and eats pasta with spaghetti sauce and a Diet Pepsi.
He eventually decides to shower and go to bed.

Tonight. I decided I had to tonight.
I followed him home.
I watched him eat his pasta. For the last time.
I watched him drink his Diet Pepsi. For the last time.
I watched him watch the news. For the last time.
I waited for him to get in the shower.
I crawled into his bedroom window.
I made sure to stay in the shadows.
By the time Stanley Stevens saw me, he was dead.