The Exterminator

His footsteps, echoing on the cobblestones, were the only sound heard in the foggy night. London slept, but its dreams were uneasy. For an unlucky few, their dreams were about to become nightmares, the kind they would never wake up from.

He drifted through the quiet streets, knowing there were those who would be about. Hadn’t his own mother been one of the wicked who infected this city? He had released her from her mortal bonds years ago; now it was his life’s work to rid his city of all of them.

Hearing voices, he melted into the shadows of a nearby alcove.

Ah, here they came now.

Both women appeared to be in their thirties, but he was sure neither had seen a twenty-fifth birthday. Like horses that had been abused and left in the weather, they had about them the worn-out look common to the pitiable trash in their profession.

Soon there would be two fewer mongrel whores roaming London’s streets.

© 2017 - dustygrein