Turning Point By David Blake Smashwords Edition Copyright 2012 David Blake Smashwords Edition, License Notes Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form, although sections of it may be quoted for the purposes of review. David Blake should be credited as the author at all times. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by the author. Thank you for your support. Please note that this is a work of fiction and the resemblance of any characters to persons alive or dead is purely coincidental. * * * It hasn’t stopped raining tonight. Almost as if the heavens were weeping for my doomed soul. Yet I can’t believe they care that much. I care, of course. I can tell, because I should be more troubled by my ruined hair. The relentless precipitation has reduced it to an ugly, wiry tangle. I spent a large chunk of my advance getting it styled. Getting it to look catalogue-standard. I didn’t figure on rain. Nor did I figure on feeling like this. The other people in this exclusive quarter of the city care more about staying dry than important things like their futures. I see them now, shadowy shapes set against the backdrop of bright street lamps and car headlights whose reflected yellows and whites congeal in the puddles like egg yolks. Every person walking with purpose along the side-walk or dashing through the gaps in the traffic, trying to dodge both the cars and the falling drops. Shielding themselves with umbrellas, upturned collars or even by holding a newspaper over their head. The rain makes them hurry, so they don’t notice me as I loiter here, wishing I could vomit so that the heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach would go away. I check my watch. Again. Even though I know what time it is. I stop twiddling the ring on my finger and put more of my cherry lipstick on. No amount of lipstick will make me feel beautiful tonight. Not when I know what I’m going to do. I don’t think I’ll ever feel beautiful again. An icy blast of late evening air sweeps along the street, passing me by like so many of life‘s opportunities. I bury my hands deep into the pockets of my overcoat and draw my arms in tightly as I shiver, but it is my thoughts that chill me. The thoughts that after tonight, it will get easier. I won’t care as much, so it won’t scare me like this again. Perhaps it’s the thought of reaching that point, the point where I don’t care at all, that terrifies me the most. I won’t be the same person any more. I’ll have changed. I’ll have the money I need, but I’ll have lost my values. Lost myself. To ease my nerves I slowly walk on from my waiting point near the phone booth, wandering inexorably closer to the hotel entrance with its grand canopy. The visitors to this illustrious building are all important enough to be protected from the rain. I hold back, though. I mustn’t get so close that the grandly-uniformed doorman waiting there in attendance notices me. I am not to be noticed by anyone. And it’s working. All eyes are elsewhere. My breathing stops as I see him emerge from the hotel. He’s twenty metres away and amongst a laughing, merry group of chic rich, but I recognise him. The man I’m here for. He’s right on time, too. I watch him like a bird of prey. So well groomed, so smartly dressed in a dinner suit. He looks like he’s worth a lot of money. To me, a lot of money is exactly what he will be worth. Once the deed is done. Once my very conscience is sacrificed. He bids farewell to the friends who are taking their time seating themselves in the waiting limousine. My body feels strange, like it’s no longer my own. I try to remind myself that many others have done this sort of thing before me. Some do it all the time. It’s only first night nerves that are making me feel this way. Once I’ve done it, I won’t care any more. He’s still saying goodbye, but his friends are now in the car. Friends who are happy now but who will be devastated when they find out that they will never see him again. The vehicle’s getting ready to drive away. I begin my final advance towards him, forcing my heavy legs into swifter motion. I don’t even notice the rain now. He’s smiling. He looks happy. I slowly reach for my ring. Then I flick the catch, exposing the lethal poison-tipped spike. The instrument of his death. The instrument of my eternal damnation. The instrument that will, in time, make me richer than he is. The limo is departing. He’s got his back to me now, as he waves after it. Everything is perfectly in place as I walk the last few feet towards him. He’s turning round again, his face still alive with smiles. Reminding me what it was like to be happy. I snap the ring closed and walk right past him. I’ll make money some other way. Or I’ll stay in debt. I want to keep my soul. It’s better to care about wet hair than not to care at all. * * * About the author: David Blake was born in the northwest of England in 1970 and grew up on a diet of Marvel Comics, 2000 AD and television sci-fi. He had been writing fiction for as long as he can remember and remains an avid reader. His other interests include travelling, vintage British television programmes, vintage cinema, football, eating toast and even having the odd drink. The author welcomes all feedback providing it is fair and constructive. https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/DavidBlake