Eight Steps

He can feel the rain thundering down on his cold body. Shivering he grips the blood-covered knife, his white knuckles trembling with fear, it was choking him from the inside. There was no way he could let her go, she had seen it all. Witnessed the death of her own father. The girl stared up at him, a face of innocence drowned with tears of grief.
“You...killed…him” her young voice forces.
“Shut up! SHUT UP!” He was now a madman, his head storming with thoughts. He had just killed a man. He had to, there was no choice. He had just killed a man. Beginning to bring the knife down towards the young girl’s chest, he stopped with an abrupt emotion. Staring into the girl’s eyes, her pale green eyes, he felt a sinking feeling in his heart. There was an absurd gathering in his stomach, gagging, the man turned and vomited, as it mixed with a puddle on the side of the road – shades of green.
He had just killed a man.
It was not meant to happen this way. No. It was not as he had planned. For he was a desperate man, and he needed to go through with it. Not for his personal benefit, he needed the money for his child. Yes Sammy may have been un-planned, but she was the love of this desperate mans life. Her blonde wavy hair, so very much like her mothers, that giving twinkle in her eye making even a condemned man smile; it was this girl that had made him commit such a desperate act. How it had all turned green. A dark, sickening shade of green.
Sirens now began to pierce the blackness of the night. He had to move, escape, for her. A feint whimper could be heard over the falling rain, and his attention had snapped back to the little girl. Oh how she reminded him of his own.
“Get in the car” spoke the man, he was obviously shaken, and this emotion was reflected in the sound of his voice. It seemed as if his voice trailed off in the howling wind as the girl did not budge. Fixated. Her face was a dark shade of green.
The sirens grew louder.
Desperation grew; reaching into his mud covered sock he produced a gun. The man hated guns, and swore to never use one, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And by god they were calling. Pointing the gun at the girl, safety off, with his finger pressed against the cold metallic trigger. “I said to get in the fucking car” His voice rattled, yet this time with more force, even a sense of crazed fear.
The girl sensed his insanity, and slowly began to move towards the rusted old commodore. Her frozen, pastel knuckles gripped on the rusty handle, as the door clicked open. The light illuminated the girls pale grey face, turning green with horror.
The mans car smelt quite strange, a mixture of mothballs and stale cigarette smoke that made the girl screw up her nose in disgust. Isn’t it amazing how human emotions work, even in such a somber moment, the low-light of the girls short life, she still managed to react to such a foul odor.
Crossing the paddock of thought and raw emotion the man was debating with his conscience. Should he kill her, end such a young life so abruptly and soon? It would save him plenty in hassle, but oh the definite wastage. The rear-vision mirror showed the girls face, her eyes glistening with shades of green.
This was the point of boiling for the man; a loud screeching of tires was heard, piercing the quiet night. He stepped out of the car. The air was not as silent as first thought; the faint yet obvious sound of sirens wailing could be heard approaching. He needed to do the deed quick. Stepping to the door, he clicked it open, the gun hidden in his back pocket. “GET OUT OF THE CAR!” the man shouted. His voice was not lost and the girl stumbled out of the rusty old Holden, rain thundering down on her. He was psychotic. All he could see was the golden locks of his daughter, a tear formed in his eye. He had to do it, for her. His hands found the girls shoulders, and he pointed her so she was facing down the road. “Walk that way, and don’t fucking look back. Just keep walking forwards. If you so much as look at me I’ll blow you’re fucking brains out”
The girl, walked, one step, two steps, three steps. The man pointed the gun where it would do the damage, and not leave any pain. Four steps, five steps, six steps. His finger was pressed against the trigger. Seven steps, eight steps.
A loud bang rattled through the night air. He was dead.