Short Story: The Assassin

     So here's a short story i felt like sharing with you. It's called The Assassin and it was published in Wordsmith magazine. It is an awesome magazine that I would reccomend to any budding writers out there. 

     This short story is actually a shortened version of a controlled assessment I did for English a year or so ago. The full length version is a few pages long, but I can't seem to find it so i'll post the short version. The full length version goes into much more depth and there are also more characters. 

     But anyway, I'm sure you're probably fed up with my talking so here's the story:     

     The Assassin crept through the deserted corridors of the palace, her feet treading silently on the elaborate carpet. She was so focused on achieving her goal as silently as possible that she barely noticed the beautifully patterned wallpaper and immaculate gold furniture that lined the hall.

      She paused to glance out of a narrow window at the dark scene of night below. It seemed like no one had noticed her so she carried on her way, her silver dagger clutched firmly in her hand.

      In the distance a church bell chimed raucously disturbing the serene silence. The Assassin hurried her pace, her black cloak flailing out behind her. Eventually she came to a hefty oak door decorated with the royal seal; two guards clad in heavy armour stood either side of the door talking in low voices.

      The Assassin edged closer, keeping the flat of her back pressed against the wall. All the guards’ saw of her as she swooped upon them was the swish of her black cloak, the jet black of her hair and her shimmering olive eyes before their throats were slit and they were lowered to the ground noiselessly.

      She pushed open the door effortlessly and strode over to the four-poster bed where the King slept. Her hands were clammy with sweat and for the first time in her career her hands began to tremble slightly. She was standing over him, light snores drifted from his motionless body. She raised the dagger and plunged it into his body just as a small cluster of guards charged into the room. She looked up, pulled her dagger from the limp body of the King and leapt out of the window into the night as swift as a shadow.