Attempt

He sat in his bedroom, staring at the clock. He sat in an armchair, colored deep red. It was very comfy, and it was late, but the man was not about to fall asleep. He was staring at the clock, watching the minutes crawl by, slowly. He was waiting. In his New York apartment at one-seventeen in the morning, he was waiting. He was waiting for a deed promised by a phone call hours ago. Waiting for the inevitable. Waiting in his pink, fuzzy bathrobe, for Death to come, sealing him in its cold embrace.
The silence was shattered with a noise. The man instantly stiffened, his grip tightening on the baseball bat he held in his left hand, he knew that noise. It was the sound of a silenced pistol being discharged, as he assumed, through his lock on his door. He heard almost-silent footsteps. No more waiting. The time had come. He stood up gently, careful not to make a sound, and silently walked across the room, his footfalls not making a sound. He positioned himself by the doorway, and took a deep breath. By the sound and speed of the intruder’s footsteps, he was searching the kitchen. Next came the bathroom, and then the bedroom.
When the intruder stepped into the room, it took less then a second for the man holding the baseball bat to register that the gun as he suspected, was in the intruder’s left hand. He swung it down into the hand holding the gun producing a loud cracking noise. The intruder fell down in agony, holding his damaged hand tight to his chest. The mad swung the baseball bat down, into the other man’s ribs, cracking three. Blood started to leak slowly from the intruder’s mouth.
The man said, “Your metacarpal bones on your left hand are most definitely shattered, and at least three of your ribs are broken. Do you want to tell me who hired you?”
“No,” choked out the man on the ground, lashing out with his foot and sending the baseball bat out of the man’s hand and through the window, down four stories. He leaped up, in a dying man’s last effort, and wrapped his hands around the man’s neck.
The pain was incredible, blinding and searing. All he could see was white, but suddenly his vision cleared, and he felt better. He managed to flip the other man up and over, levering him through the window, to join the baseball bat on the fall.
The man stood, and cleared his throat loudly. He walked over to a beige telephone, and dialed 9-1-1. He was going to let the police handle this. He walked back into his room, sat down into his armchair, sinking into a sea of velvet. And, as if nothing had happened, he began to wait.