• He steps slowly upward, each step seeming to take an eternity. His breathing is calm, his heart no longer races, it is no longer a thrill. The gun in his hand feels at peace in it's place, and it no longer shakes. The quite sonata of death plays in his mind, while the dark grants him it's engulfing embrace. He stops on the third floor and turns to the door at his right. Placing his left hand on the door he says his silent prayer, makes his peace with the shadows within. Slowly, he turns the door knob, it makes little noise. He thrusts open the door, greated by only dark he creeps forward. It takes little time to discover his prey, silent and still the shape of a human can be seen through bed covers, the quiet breaths and snores are all the noise to be heard. His right hand raises, the gun aimed. His finger pressures the trigger, a few seconds go by, then as if a quick burst of air, a bullet fly's out of the tip of the silencer and into the human shaped figure. He aims at the other shape in the bed and fire's again. Silently, he leans over to pick up the shell casings, he does not look at his work. Slowly he exits, and just as quickly as he had come, he had gone with only two lifeless forms to even show he had been there. Quicker now, he crept down the stairs, darted out the door and disapeared into the abyss of the night. But such is the life of the shadows, to never be seen, never to be known, with out warning they come. They are the composers of the night, their song is that of death, pain, and suffering. The sweet melody matched only by the sharp harmony. Tis a song only the darkness can hear, a song the daylight begins to fear.