The Death of a Gatherer

This post is submitted to Sunday Photo Fiction. The challenge is to write a story using 200 words or less based on the picture prompt.

spf-11-18-18-joy-pixley-2

Photo Credit: Joy Pixley

He had visited the Kubo-yan many times. Every visit produced excellent results. Back then Gatherers were considered to be dreams of deranged minds .

A sudden noise shattered his daydreaming. A hunting bird took flight. They rarely appeared here, preferring the dry desert where lizards were the prey that wetted their appetite. The locals considered it bad luck to see them outside of the rainy season.

He slipped into the compound without anyone noticing. He would wait here until well after dark.

Nothing could distract him now. The object of his mission lay straight ahead. A Dreamer who’s life was about to be over. The Gatherer would make it a painless death. He settled in a crouch on his hands and toes and peered at his victim. The slight smell of perfume reached his nose. She slept alone.

Too late he heard the sound of padded feet against the stone. He felt something cold and sharp strike his shoulder. He glanced down and saw his left arm on the shiny tile. His intended victim turned and smiled. The smile of the devil was the last thing he saw in this life.

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