Margaret

• Trent De Zilva, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2012

She’s crouching on her haunches in the shadowy corner of the dilapidated room, watching, waiting. The door abruptly creaks open, no need to panic, she’d been expecting this. She tries to get even lower, even deeper into the musty darkness, as if she wants it to swallow her whole. A man tramps into the room, limping heavily on his right leg. He continues to the decaying chair in the middle of the room, his left foot dragging with each step. In the corner, the woman licks her lips in anticipation, pondering the events that were to come. She watches the man as he reaches the chair and falls heavily into it, causing a cloud of dust to lift into the air. She holds her breath, trying not to breathe in even the tiniest specks of dust,in case it made her sneeze. Even the tiniest of mistakes would ruin everything. She exhales quietly, so the man would not hear. She was ready. Years of planning and observing of this man led up to this very moment. If she was to ruin this now she would never forgive herself. She reaches into her pocket and grasps the blade she intends to use. She extracts the knife and takes a moment to admire its beauty, before it was smudged with the man’s thick, glistening blood. She stares past the chair, through the frost-covered window and studies the gloom outside. She listens intently; hears the man’s slow, heavy breaths; hears the rain tapping the window in the background.
‘It’s a perfect night for the annihilation of this man,’ she thinks to herself, her mouth curling into a slight grin.'No more procrastinating.'
Nonchalantly, she stands up, hoping the boards beneath her feet wouldn’t groan. The man in the chair exhales resonantly.
‘Ah, my darling Margaret,’ he wheezes, like he’d known she was there the entire time.
Margaret curls her lips into an even larger grin. She wasn’t surprised.
‘Mr Alfred, you always were an intelligent man,’ she replies. ‘How did you know I would be here?
‘As you said, I’m an intelligent man. I have my sources,’ he responds
‘Well then, Mr Alfred, you must know why I’m here, do you not?’
‘Of course I do. So why don’t you get on with it, kill me. Finish what your father started when he destroyed my leg.’
‘Oh believe me, I intend to.’ She cackles.
‘But before you do, I advise that you think it over. I have contacted the authorities and I have sealed this room in such a way that it can only be opened from outside. They’ll be here any moment now.’
Her face droops. She’d been an idiot. How could she have not expected this? She was too caught up in the exhilaration of it all. She has to get the job done, now.
She leaps out of the shadows, towards the chair, slashing the air with her knife, with a scream like a battle cry. The door slams open and 5 armed men file in. She knows she can't win, but she still tries to get the blade to make contact, but is dissatisfied. The men seize her and drag her out of the room. Mr Alfred stares out the window, listening to the woman’s screams of rage echoing through the hallway. Mr Alfred moves his hand and grips his stomach, feeling the warmth of his blood seeping between his fingers, only then does he permit himself a smile of satisfaction.