Story Notes:
    Type: Humor
    Rating: G
    Length: about 400 words

                                                                        Purging the Devilish Intention
    
The one called Assassin always watches.  Even when he sleeps, a part of him stays awake, listening.  Anything out of the ordinary alerts him.  Nothing escapes his attention.

Today he watches the others.  The Master has ordered him not to touch the others, but the Master is gone.  The others are no longer protected.

An imp of mischief seizes him, and he imagines himself free of the Master's restriction.  He could flay the skin from their bodies.  He could nibble their delicate meat and crunch their insignificant bones.  They would blub in terror at his power.

Frenzied by the vividness of his fantasies, he feels the tensing of his muscles and reasserts discipline.  Vigilance must always precede violence.  Preparation before passion.

He creeps closer.  The others notice him.  He halts, and across the distance, they gaze at each other.  The others observe him with expressions that are bland and incurious.  As if unaware of the danger he poses, they turn nonchalantly away.

He snarls.  How dare they dismiss him so casually!  Don't they realize how often he could have taken them before now?  Do they trust so blindly in the Master's order that they believe it will continue to shelter them?  Can't they see his superiority?  Did they think he would deign to obey the Master's edicts forever?

He leaps.  Still they ignore him.  He rages at their indifference and designs an attack that will prove how they've underestimated him.  A lesson first.  He'll tease them and play with their puny lives.  Only when he becomes bored, will he kill them.

The Master's early return foils his scheme.  Angry words descend on him like the hot coals of a god's wrath.  The Master rescues the others, granting them the protection of a higher plane of existence.

Purged of all devilish intention, Assassin ducks as the Master moves to swat him.  He jumps from the table and lands lightly on four feet.  Flicking his tail with deliberate unconcern, he saunters off and returns to his favorite perch on the sofa.  He stares across the living room at the goldfish, now on the desk.  Unmoved by the recent threat of death, they swim calmly in their bowl.

The one called Assassin closes his eyes, as if to sleep, and watches.