A Frying Pan Story

Prologue

Elijah

Elijah had always been a killer, even as an underdeveloped runt he found sadistic pleasure in stamping on the minuscule ant creatures crawling on the paving. He just failed to comprehend when this had become a profession and how he had come to being paid for his troubles. Although, he can't really consider them troublesome anymore since it had become second nature to him to be holding a knife and if without, he experienced worrisome withdrawal symptoms.

Friendships had always been forsaken and even the idea of a relationship was ludicrous as he never even remained in the same place for longer than a week. Loneliness sometimes crept up on him, understandably so, but what was to be done? Relieve himself of the only thing he told himself he was good at? No.

Shaking his self-pitying thoughts from his head, he concentrated on the task at hand. Stealthily, he crept up the colossal cliff face, looking behind him habitually for some sort of adversary, knowing there not to be one. He was too good for that. One hand after the other, his fingers straining slightly as the exertion wore him down, right foot up, his eyes blinking away the irritatingly small fragments of rock penetrating his cornea. 10 feet more, he easily ascended the precipice, breathing in deeply once he reached the finish, a sort of congratulatory gift for overcoming such a feat.

Scanning his surroundings he caught a glimpse of the picturesque scenery before narrowing his eyes upon the target. A solitary cottage, isolated and dilapidated, it was hard to believe his next victim actually resided there. Creeping steadily forward he was acutely aware of the potentially noise-making and mission-ruining objects around him and was careful not to step on them. Nearing the entrance to the cottage which more resembled a snack he scanned the windows searching for evidence of life. Seeing nothing, he crept forward.

Lorelei

Groaning inwardly she chuckled quietly at the stranger's brazen stupidity, she could easily see him through the crevice in the door! Surely he didn't think dressing in all black at noon was inconspicuous enough? Huffing slightly she prepared herself for the entry of yet another arrogant imbecile into her home.

Staring at him inching forward she reluctantly admires his litheness, surreptitiously moving forwards, his actions fluid and faultless. Gripping her trusty saucepan in one hand she hides behind the hinge side of the door, removing any distracting thoughts from her subconscious and ensuring her hiding spot was indeed reliable as she breathed short shallow breaths.

All of a sudden the doorknob slowly inches sideways reflecting the force of the stranger on its replica merely inches away from itself. Steeling her self, the grip on her saucepan tightens as feels the familiar excitable rush of adrenaline rush through her bloodstream. Relishing in it as the door slowly swings open, she remains hidden, waiting for him to walk forward as he assuredly would.

Just as his black leather boot covered toe pokes over the edge of the door, she makes her move. Swinging with all of her might she collides the flat surface of her dependable weapon with his balaclava-covered face and with a impact-affirming crunch he falls to floor, unconscious.