The Assassin

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THE ASSASSIN

It was a dark night the rain was swooping in. A full moon lit up the dull valley. A lonely man lay in the rain soaked grass, constantly starring down at a lonely country cottage. A car passed by on the lane creating Silhouettes within the trees. The car startled him, but his lack of nerves led him to carry on. All to be heard was an owls hooting in a near by whistling tree. The waiting was endless, a single drop of rain trickled down his stern face, but for fear of being caught he never twitched. Two deafening roars of thunder echoed through the hills but torrential conditions didn't move him, his unblinking, hard, cold eyes where fixed on the house. Two years of planning was about to be over he picked up his box and limped down the hill to a lonely cottage.

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As he arrived at the worn gate, he hung the rifle on the gatepost and tried to push up the rusty catch eventually snapping it. He then crept silently along the grass-covered path towards the dark, derelict looking house. The black door was originally red but covered in years of dirt from an obviously careless owner. He pushed open the towering door with ease and entered the house making sure he closed it behind him. He limped into the desolate Victorian kitchen and picked up a newspaper dated the previous year, which he would use later. Even though he ...

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