For a moment the teacher stopped, Cat’s rustling breaking him out of his peaceful stroll as his playlist switched to the next track. His shoulders jerked slightly, like he was thinking about looking behind him. But he ignored the urge. Did he feel like he was being watched?
Cat closed in and lifted the metal object. It was heavy in a pair of hands that weren’t his, which held the object with an unsure grip and quivering muscles. He felt a thrumming fever under foreign skin, heart pounding through the frame he’d been shoved into. The body’s footsteps were focused, ritualistic. Like a predator, he thought. Close enough now to see every wrinkle on Bower’s suit. Weight shifted as Cat swung the weapon up over his head. All of its potential energy was above him now. He was past trying to alter the body’s movements. He’d tried; he knew it was pointless.
James Bower finally turned, and his eyes went wide for a fraction of a second before pounds of force struck his shoulder. He dropped to his knees. Cat’s arms faltered, the weapon was lodged in the wound- but then the fever spread and the hands gripped tighter and he freed the weapon with a wet, cracking sound before lifting it again.
And again, and again. He knew how many times. He’d pored over the reports.
“… blows occurred after the estimated time of death…”
He would keep going long after the man’s neck was shattered, long after his face had turned to pulp.
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3.20.2023
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Oh! Ok! Gotcha.
Ways to help Palestine:
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