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Original writing... The Assassin.

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The Assassin The silvery shadow could be seen up against the dark wall of the damp, dimly lit cellar, it oozed a musky smell of mould and there was a distinct waft of a dead forest floor. The walls were covered with peeling paint and dark, aged wallpaper. The cellar was carpet less, just old, wooden floorboards and a dirty rug in the corner. The shadow of a man, around six feet tall was quite skinny, with long arms and legs and dressed in a smart, long black coat. He wasn't moving, only speaking into a small device which he held in front of his face. The voice was so cold and harsh it sounded like glass splinters. The shadow turned on the spot and began, without rushing, to slowly open a small wooden draw, slid out an object which glinted in the light and observed it carefully. The black, metallic implement shimmered once again. He reached his long, spider like fingers inside his long, dark jacket and placed it deep within the inside pocket, buttoned it and turned around. He reached for an oddly shaped box on top of the table in front of him and that too disappeared into the jacket. He sauntered over to the wooden staircase and took a deep breath before climbing. ...read more.


The cylindrical object was fitted to the end of his granite black metallic implement and the other slid on to the top. Now forming the unmistakable shape of a gun. He looked through the sight and pointed it around, placed it on the wall next to him and reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a box. He struggled to open it, the rain causing the metal surface to become slippery and awkward to open. He rived at it with his teeth, sending the box crashing to the ground and the contents scattering around his feet. The expression on his face showing he was annoyed with his own clumsiness. He picked up the contents, placed them in his pocket, selected one and loaded it into his gun leaving the safety catch on. The gun was ready. He placed it on the floor beside him, fastened his jacket and lay down. He inched along the damp, gritty ground slowly; the friction between the gravel and him was making it difficult to maneuver. He then grasped a hole in the wall and pulled him self through, The gap was about a foot tall and two feet wide so only his head and the gun could squeeze through the gap. He was now ready, ready for whatever was about to happen. ...read more.


BANG! There was a trickle of blood where he fell and a small hole in the back of his head, the only sign that he had been shot. "You OK?" his accomplice shouted through his earpiece. He didn't reply. "Hey, what's going on?" Still no reply. "Are you there? Are you there? What's happening?" There was an eerie silence. "You're supposed to be the best! They told me you were the best! ", he shouted. Worried now, he ran to the house and up three flights of stairs. Clambering through the hatch he could see him. "You're there! ". But still he didn't reply and he didn't move; only lay there in the same position as before, his gun pointing forward. Then he noticed the small hole in the back of his head, trickling blood. He was obviously dead. The target had fled but behind the assassin, in the window of An abandoned house across the way stood a man, around six feet three and built like a bull. He had the same piercing eyes and the same cold looking face. He just stared, emotionless, then began dismantling his gun, putting the sights into his long bag and his box of bullets back into his coat pocket. This assassin had been successful. His working day had ended well and he still had a family to go home to. The assassin had been assassinated. ...read more.

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