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The Assassin

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The Assassin All that could be seen was the flickering of the unknown shadows, as he lay cadaverous beneath the long lifeless grass, listening to the cold shrieking of the owl in the distance. His pale white withered hands with thick purple piercing veins slowly prowled along the damp ground clenching gravel in his boney arthritic fingers. His mysterious possessed eyes fixed on a deserted house standing alone on the dark misty moor. Sweat stood out from his brow, as his face kept an expressionless look. He put his hand into his leather jacket; it was torn at one side, and pulled out a cigarette. He gripped it tightly between his cold bloodless lips and lit his lighter. The flame flickered, he glared into it and his devilish eyes began to widen, as if his fearless face was gaining power and energy through this flame. Once again he took one long glare at the deserted house standing alone and picked up his rifle, he knew exactly what he was going to do. ...read more.


He opened the front door and quietly stepped into the house. Inside house was cold, everything was dusty, surely nobody could live like this. The only lighting was the few candles that had just been lit; the man could smell the smell of fresh wax burning. He heard the woman talking, but whom was she talking to, he wondered. The talking was coming from upstairs; the man followed her voice up the creaky staircase and along the hall. The talking was coming from a room at the end of the hall; it was lit up very bright. The talking was becoming clearer he was trying to work out what she was saying, she kept repeating, "Just tell me and it will all be over soon, I don't want this to happen as much as you don't". The man thought what does she want to know, and what doesn't she want to happen. He was getting closer and closer towards the room, he could see her shadow moving. He was so close now he peered inside through a hole in the door she was sitting at the end of the bed talking to an elderly man. ...read more.


After the suffering she gave the old man, the only suffering she had was the guilt that hung above her after she had committed her dreadful deed. The man slowly walked away from the scene of the crime without a care in the world, his face never twitched throughout it all, he had done what he had come to do. He lit a fire on the stove in the kitchen and made himself a fire torch and began burning things in the house. He was setting the house on fire. He swiftly moved away from the house covering up his footprints after each step. He sat at the end of the once again isolated road and watch the house burn. He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette and gripped it tightly between his cold bloodless lips and lit it. Then he slowly stood up and walked away from the burning house into the eerie darkness of the night leaving behind only what seemed to be devils peak for a night! English Coursework 12/10/01 Helen Cluskey 10 Set 1 Ms Mc Philips ...read more.

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