Rain trickled down his back. The wind howled in his ears. The shrubs extended their long slender branches to whip and snag at his ankles, their leaves brushing curiously against his legs. Water had collected in puddles on the steps and was creating a waterfall effect down the smooth steps. His shoes couldn’t get a grip on the wet marble and more than once did he slip over and bash his knees, his ankles, his elbows. He cursed quietly to himself, wishing he didn’t have to do this. But it was just too risky. They had been talking about trying to launch a boat back out to land, despite the rain, wind and treacherous sea and he couldn’t risk them trying that. A small, cold smile spread across his face. He wasn’t ready to give up his prey yet; they still had time to entertain him. To be…useful to him. He remembered the look on his most recent kills face. Austria had put up a surprisingly good fight for such a small, puny nation. He smirked again. That was all it took. One little squeeze on a trigger, and bang, a nation collapsed. It gave him a sweet, sadistic pleasure at how easily their lives slipped away.
Yes, his most recent kill. That was how he saw himself. A hunter. A hunter of not only power but intelligence. No-one would suspect him; after all, the big players were still alive. Leave the powerful nations to last, and let them accuse each other while he watched, and laughed, and took another of their lives.
It was a cruel world.
He knew that as well. And he had lived through some of the worst times and come out of it and still have enough strength and dignity to claw his way back up. Countries had been sceptical of him, of his so called strength, and his goal to take the spot of top-dog. He would show them. He had already showed some of them. Their expressions of shock when they saw him in their last moments. You? They would say, they wouldn’t believe their own eyes. They didn’t think he was a killer.
Ha. But he had to get back down to business. If the boats were left here they could make an attempt to get back to land. They would almost certainly be drowned but it wasn’t a risk he was going to take. He slipped and slid down the steps and finally arrived at the dock. It was dark already, the storm clouds bringing the night earlier than expected for the time of the year, and he wouldn’t be missed for another half hour, or until someone came looking for him. He had plenty of time. He had, literally, time to kill. The irony. The boats were already straining against their ropes, the sea longing to play with its new toys, and he untied the first one, and kicked it out into the sea away from the dock. The sea reared up in joy and tossed the boat between its claws, playing with it before ripping it apart and slowly; the little boat disappeared beneath the waves.
He untied the rest, and came to the one at the end last, a smile across his face. A little something he had planted there for them. He wondered how many had noticed it, or how many had understood it. A little sadistic perhaps, but after all the pain he had gone through, he had the right to give them a little back. Had anyone noticed the boat? With its sinister message printed on the side?
Pour ne jamais revenir
He kicked the boat out to sea.