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Creative Writing

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The Assassin Engulfing his surroundings, as it crept out from the opening of his mouth, the smoke slowly drifted away from his lips. He leant back onto the damp wall, creating a haze of thick opaque smog and slowly tilted his head backwards in ecstasy. He gently exhaled into the cold bitter air of the night. Frequently he would be startled by the wail of police sirens, but they became increasingly fainter as they moved further and further away, the occasional barking of a dog and the rustling of leaves through the alleyway in which he was standing were the only other sounds that could be heard. The adrenaline surged throughout his body and he was left fidgeting in anxiety. The potent smell of marijuana was vivid in the depths of the alley where he gripped a neatly rolled and tightly packed cannabis joint; he inhaled deeply and was breathing with deep satisfaction. As the THC floated through his bloodstream and as the dopamine was released in his brain, he suddenly felt tranquilized and more relaxed. ...read more.


Even though the thought of his mission was driving him; he knew it had to be done with care. He kept calm and composed still with the cannabis joint hanging from the tip of his lips. It began to drizzle with rain; he lifted up his hood and placed it over his head to conceal his face. He pushed away from the wall, concentrating on his assignment. He dropped the joint as all of the contents had burnt away and stamped it out. Desperately trying to make as little noise as possible, he stood up straight and prepared himself with not even a prayer in mind, for the sin he was about to commit. A tall middle-aged man emerged from the vehicle; the man looked well off with pinstriped trousers, a white shirt that became drenched instantly due to the precipitation, a colourful tie and a blazer that he slung over his shoulder. He slammed his car door in a manner which made it obvious he was agitated due to his collision with the dustbins. ...read more.


The surroundings were still; the atmosphere was damp, depressing and dead. The corpse was lying frozen by the curb. In a cavalier fashion, he walked out of the back alley with his shoulders shrugged in chilliness; his head low in cautiousness, and took a sharp left into a side street towards his carbon black Mercedes SLR. Unexpectedly, the wailing of a distant police siren grabbed his attention. The sound grew louder and louder and it seemed to be coming closer. A single drop of sweat began to form above his brow. What if he had been seen? What if for the first time, he had blown his cover? At that moment, a white police car rapidly passed by as he stood in panic. He sighed in relief and continued towards his automobile, uncaringly rattling his keys in his hand. His firm, steady footsteps represented his attitude, hard, harsh and heartless. He entered his car; seated himself, wedged the key in the ignition, turned on the engine. He took one last look at the scene through his rear view mirror and drove away never to return. ?? ?? ?? ?? Creative Writing Milan Parmar ...read more.

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