The Assassin
There was nothing around for miles, just fields, each a different shade of green, brown or golden yellow. The fields were muddy and waterlogged but the yellow still shone through as bright as ever. A lonely country lane ran smoothly through the hills. It was late autumn and the air was filled with the smell of a typical British countryside. Horse manure, more commonly known was natural found fertilizer. Leaves were falling from the trees like rain falls from the sky. It looked like no-one had been here for years but up in a top field, he lay. He seemed undisturbed by the pouring rain, staring at the road below in the valley, unblinking.
It appeared from a sudden smug impression on his face he had spotted what he was looking for (it was hard to spot anything in the torrential rain) An eerie dilapidated farmhouse, surrounded by muddy fields, its drive, a gravel turn off from the lonely lane below. The house was small in size and dreary in appearance. It was mainly grey but a few brick-red tiles appeared on the roof. The farm house looked haunting as thought it was the loneliest, most deserted place in the whole of the Irish countryside. Thunder and lightening roared like a lion in the distance and he heard birds tweeting in the trees around him but not even this disturbed his concentration.
There was nothing around for miles, just fields, each a different shade of green, brown or golden yellow. The fields were muddy and waterlogged but the yellow still shone through as bright as ever. A lonely country lane ran smoothly through the hills. It was late autumn and the air was filled with the smell of a typical British countryside. Horse manure, more commonly known was natural found fertilizer. Leaves were falling from the trees like rain falls from the sky. It looked like no-one had been here for years but up in a top field, he lay. He seemed undisturbed by the pouring rain, staring at the road below in the valley, unblinking.
It appeared from a sudden smug impression on his face he had spotted what he was looking for (it was hard to spot anything in the torrential rain) An eerie dilapidated farmhouse, surrounded by muddy fields, its drive, a gravel turn off from the lonely lane below. The house was small in size and dreary in appearance. It was mainly grey but a few brick-red tiles appeared on the roof. The farm house looked haunting as thought it was the loneliest, most deserted place in the whole of the Irish countryside. Thunder and lightening roared like a lion in the distance and he heard birds tweeting in the trees around him but not even this disturbed his concentration.
