One of the things I like to do is layer a tarot card prompt with a bit of information I want to learn. This older story is one I wrote while reading books written by FBI profilers. I wanted to creatively explore a list of traits for organized v. disorganized serial killers. I’ve also done this with point of view exercises, and “The Student” started off with the results of an active setting exercise.
I used the beautiful Archeon deck for this one. The King of Pentacles, reversed. The King of Pentacles is one who has mastery over his domain, prosperous and strong, widely revered. The reversal could indicate falling or corruption. Given that I paired it with organized vs. disorganized serial killer, I interpreted it as one king triumphing over another, both of them corrupt to their core. I’ll let you guess who is who. (My apologies for the heavy handed metaphors, I was having fun.) 423 words.
In the shadows he paused, listening. He took a steady, silent breath, scenting her out. He tasted the air with his tongue, confirming, seeking direction. He walked into a room full of polished wood, and the scent from old books. The well-oiled leather chair barely whispered when she turned to face him, a look of surprise not yet upon her face.
He smiled. “You are vile, corrupt, heartless, and doomed. You stand on your shiny money and claim credit for work that is not yours; you lie to the people. You are a stain. You have convinced the city that your generosity and community outreach are responsible for the safety of our children but it is ME. I am the reason these streets are safe, ME. You lie and use your wealth to hide your true nature, your crimes, and you will be destroyed for the good of all.”
She tilted her head before she replied. “A monologue? Are you serious?” She sighed and stood up, brushing the wrinkles from her slacks. She took a step toward him, slinking as her heels traced the winding vines along the carpet. “You are motivated by instinct, a drive you barely understand yourself. An attempt to right wrongs done to you that can not be corrected, over and over and always with fail. You are little more than an animal. You deserve no credit.”
He did not anticipate this. She didn’t seem the least bit frightened, and it was beginning to chill him. She seemed to notice, and the way she moved her head as she looked him up and down seemed predatory. “Did you really think if you sought out those with few ethics, that you would not find one with a darkness to match your own? Sweetheart, I am no mere white-collar criminal, nor one of the thugs you’ve been whetting your bloody appetite on. I’m just as much of a monster as you are, only more intelligent.”
“I am not a monster! I am a hero!”
“Tell that to McClary’s widow. Or the Johnston kids. They don’t have anyone left.”
He had no response, growing more pale as he noticed the silencer on the gun she had apparently been holding all along. “Did you think you were the one hunting me when you saw my press release? It was easy to draw you here. You are blatant, predictable, and drawing too much attention to my neighborhood.” He stood, waiting for her next words, as her gun hissed and the wall behind him splintered.
Tippitiwichet 