The Red-Hat Assassin

Monday morning, beginning of the work week as I wheeled into the parking structure next to the newspaper, where I work. As usual, with satchel hanging from my left shoulder, I walked lost in thought towards the entrance I’d jus’ passed through.

Her low, square heels made a soft tap, tap, tap as she walked behind me. I knew from the sound that she’d overtake me before I rounded the corner.

As she began to pass me, I felt a sudden sting. She had poked me with a needle in my leg led, below my butt-cheek.

“Hey!” I shouted.

She did not look back at me as I stopped to rub the spot from where the pain emanated. I figured that I could distinguish the elderly woman from other women because of the bright red hat she wore.

Continuing my path towards the office, I picked up my pace, determined to call the police as soon as I made it to my desk. As I rounded the corner I was met with a sea of red-hatted women.

The sight made my head spin wildly, my heart race uncontrollably and then growing sweaty and clammy, my throat fill with bloody vomit.

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