The unlocked door swung open easily underneath her leather-golved hand. Cautiously, she stepped into the apartment and studied it's interior. The hallway was dark, a dusty, cracked mirror hung above a cluttered coffee table. A forgotten coat rack lay on it's side, and the floor was littered with empty glass bottles, ciggarette packets and food wrapping. The smells of stale sweat and alchohol assaulted her nose.
Quietly, she picked her way down the hallway, the door silently swinging shut behind her. One of the doors leading off the hall was slightly ajar, so she pushed that one open. Immediatley the smell grew stronger, and she crept in.
There, sprawled across the grubby sofa, was a man. His long greasy brown hair hung around his unshaven face as he sat there, reading a text message on his outdated phone. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the movement of the door, and spun around so fast he nearly fell off the chair.
"Do I know you?" He slurred. He was drunk. Probably high too. In any case, too intoxicated to question how the beautiful girl had gotten into his apartment and why she was there.
"Probably not," She smiled politely.
"No, I do. I seen you at that Brendon's place, right?"He asked, gazing up at her. "Yeah, you're that Alice."
"Maybe. But that's why I'm here actually. Brendon asked me to come," She told the addict, quietly.
"If he wants that money again, tell him I'll have it soon. I just need more time," He cried, worried now. Obviously he owed some debt to Brendon, one that he had been putting off for a while now.
Alice just smiled, flicking open her pocket knife that she had inconspicuously removed from her jacket. She made her way to the wasted man, and without warning, swung her fist around to his temple. He collapsed to the floor, dazed and confused. The dreamy smile never leaving her face, she bent down and brought the knife to his forehead, and carved a large 'X' deep into it, ruby blood flowing fast from the wound. He howled in pain and thrashed out, the scarlet life-fluid running into his eyes, blinding him. Alice pinned him down and raised her knife again. This time the blade struck at his throat, running smoothly across it, cutting deep. The man's mouth opened wide to scream, but it didn't come. Instead, a gargling could be heard, blood rising up into his mouth and spilling down his chin. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head. His body give a final twitch, then he was still.
Alice sat there for a minute, studying the scene before her, taking in the beauty of it all. This man would never breathe again, his lifeless eyes would never see again. He'd never inhale the nicotine and consume the alcohol that fuelled his life again. His lifeless body would be left to rot in a pine box, six feet under the ground. All because of her.
And she loved it.
After cleaning the blood from her knife on the man's already soaked shirt, she stood up and left, leaving through the fire exit leading into a dirty alley.
She stopped for a moment, taking in her surroundings. The town's polluted air and congested roads. The chewing-gum-speckled pavement and grubby shop front windows.
This is home, she thought. Home of the swift.