Daily writing prompt
What is the most important thing to carry with you all the time?
He was hurrying along
by lamplight glow.
The darkness filled the city night
like a creeping fog,
lingering in the corners before
rushing forth like gray waters.
His feet,
clacking off the cobblestone,
picked up
pace.
While behind him,
the figure followed.
The last victim
lay dead not one-hundred
feet away.
In a home
that he once rented.
There was not a drop
of blood to be found.
Empty.
But his guilt
was full.
He was nearly running.
A single mistake,
and he too
would be a cadaver.
Fear harried his every
footfall.
Ending in an alley,
he turned. Behind him was
only stone. An ending.
The murders
would stop
tonight,
and he took from his pocket
the most important thing,
as the shadow
fell upon
his trembling face.
A crucifix.
