He roughly grabbed my arm and pulled me nearer. Up close, he reeked of onions and must, yet a hint of something...sweet wafted toward me, some unidentifiable, pleasant scent hidden beneath the stench. His breath hit my face, surprising me with its potency. It smelled fresh--fresher, I was sure, than my own. His scraggly beard rubbed against my face, sliding slowly down my cheek as he lowered his head and moved his mouth towards my ear.
His voice was a deep rumble. I felt it as it began low in his chest and worked it's way out of his mouth. "This is not what I asked for," he whispered silkily into my ear. His voice was deceptively soft, almost lazy, as if he didn't care, as if he were simply inquiring about the weather. I knew that he wasn't. There was no hint of an accent, no faint lilt to take away from his statement.
"They didn't...didn't have..." I stumbled my way through the words, them jumbling up in my mouth. "They didn't have it all." I finished my statement in a hushed rush, my words breathy as I tried to discount his nearness. It wasn't working. It was a lame excuse, yes, but I didn't want him to know that I had simply forgotten exactly what he had wanted.
"You did not," he whispered to me with deadly intent "get what I asked you to. Why did you not do as I asked?" His breath caressed my war, tickling my earlobe. I attempted to squirm away, leaning my head toward the building near me. He turned me as began backing me up, his body pushing against mine and forcing me back. I landed with a soft thud, a building against my back, his hand cushioning my head. I smiled at him, dazed again at his nearness. His lustrous green eyes peered down at me, a sharp contrast to the golden shade of his skin.
I lifted my hands and they fluttered above his chest before lightly coming to rest on it. Beneath my hands, his chest was fluid, the thick muscles shifting. I gazed up at him and smiled dreamily. He is the most handsome hobo I have ever laid my eyes upon, I thought. He frowned down at me, first glancing at my hands resting on his tatters shirt, and then at my face.
No, no, I wanted to tell him as I rubbed my thumb across his forehead, Straightening out the creases his frown had created. Don't mar that lovely face with such a negative look. But his gaze captivated me, captured me, and I couldn't move as I studied his eyes. He leaned closer and pulled my head to the side? His face coming to rest beside my ear again. "This will not do," he whispered. His voice was as smooth and seductive as dark chocolate, and it washed over me in waves. It was such a stark contrast to his appearance, yet it was impossibly sexy.
He suddenly leaned back and smiled at me in a friendly manner. His teeth were still impossibly white, yet the others that had not been there...were appearing. The bottom of one, the top of another all twinkled at my with their whiteness, surrounded by black. I realized that he had a full mouth of teeth, but he had covered some of them up with some sort of...blackout. He reached down into his pocket, from which he withdrew something. It was shiny and reflected the light from the streetlight. It was a knife. It's length, much larger than his large palm, distracted me from my inane fascination with the man, and u began to feel uneasy. He slowly brought it up to my throat.
"My dear," he continued, slightly louder now as he leaned away casually and held the knife between our throats. His voice distracted me, and I looked away from the blade and back into his gaze. I cannot allow you to go in like this. You are so young, yet so forgetful. I am helping you. Am I not? Nod your head." His cool voice slid over me and I found myself nodding, agreeing with him simply because he wanted me to. Anything to keep him talking and to keep him from frowning. "Good." He smiled again. He applied pressure to the knife, and it's sharp late slid cleanly through my neck. He smiled sadly down at the girl, looking first from her body as it fell away from the wall, to her head as it rolled away. It is so hard to find a very good Samaritan, he thought to himself. But he had hope for the next one. Maybe that one wouldn't forget the milk. Fin.