Dark Agent - I

For Mav, Who Is Fast Becoming One Of My Biggest Fans

Descent

Skimming low tree-tops, he alighted across the street from where his task now lay. He thought it fitting that he always land in the dark. He stepped out of the shadows of the now decrepit and abandoned school building and started to cross the road. His dark long hair framed his face. He shook his head, for he was no great fan of what he was about to do. Everything was dark in his life and he dressed accordingly. A black suit, all but obscured the tie and shirt underneath that were of the same colour. He walked forward with purpose but faltered at every step. His mind was in turmoil, but he was bound by the very essence of his creation to carry out the task allotted to him. He betrayed no emotion now as he strode forward. He stopped at the fence door, veering crazily on its rusted hinges, and started looking at the neighbourhood. All of the houses were run-down without exception. None of them had a garden and only one had a paint-job that looked like it was administered in this century. The whole block had an aura of neglect around it. Not a light bulb adorned the whole street and nothing stirred. The creatures of the night were strangely absent, although he was to blame for that. They had felt his dark halo of power and scuttled off to the nooks and crannies lying in abundance. Beer cans and old newspapers littered the street and dead and gnarled trees grew on either side. He envisioned the place half a century ago and saw a lively community, thriving on a factory nearby. He turned around and looked across the street. The chimneys could still be seen in the horizon, although only four of the original six were still standing. Like a plant devoid of water, the community had died a slow and undoubtedly painful death. He sighed, turned back and started walking towards the door. It was getting harder every time. There was no place in the fold for one who let his feelings come between the job at hand. He knew there were a million just like him, doing what he was about to do now, but he doubted that any of them felt what he was feeling right now. He walked up the path, once paved marble, now overgrown with weeds. He stopped an inch from the door and looked up for inspiration; all he saw was storm clouds piling up. Anger clouded his judgment, and he threw a punch at the rotting, oak door with all the strength he could muster. The house shook on its very foundations, the veering fence door fell to the ground, a shutter fell somewhere close by and far away, behind him, he could hear the rumble as another one of the chimneys collapsed. He looked at the door and there was not a mark on it. He looked at his hand and it was as flawless as the day it had been created. Again he looked up and started to scream, “Why do you give me this power when I did not ask for it? Why must I go through this, day after day?” Still, no answer was forthcoming. Resigned, he pushed open the door and stepped in.