FICTION: Motionless Assassin by Ron Koppelberger

His talent was a calm summery of silence, ragamuffin innocence in the sense that he forestalled the act in degrees of sworn childlike journey; a methodical study in meek assassination, a poise given the expression of thought, thoughts of shaded existence, by grins and nods and silent rebuke, by the rivers edge and upended social rebuke. He was bound by a glance, a stature of prevailing possession. He crafted his plumage with a look, almost innocent and exacting the tears of a bidden drama, then on the eve of good tidings a smirk and a dismissal unto the lifeblood of twilights theater, unto the rays of condemnation, a denial in pausing breaths of ancient supposition.

The making of a moment wrought by the glimmer of chains and the glow of tethered purity, by sleepy eyed shadows and nightmares hidden in a coy ghost of bidden damnation, stooping in shaped perches gone unto the gnarled arms of a graven yield, by connotated cloaks of darkness in quiet vigil. The ravens refrain. In an addicts court a winged angel bidden cleaver by the enemy of the untroubled willow and the sparrow in search of peace. A garden in spite consoled by the wonder of the passerby and the freedom of those who live in the silhouette of love and daydream spirit. By warning and heed the silence of the beast in desolate lashings of human labor.