The killer

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The killer

He just lay there, on the wet ground, for hours. He looked as though he was just casually waiting and that it was perfectly normal to lie on the ground. After a few hours it started to rain heavily, though this did not discourage him in the slightest as he just carried on lying there, looking comfortable and content. Once in a while a car would drive along the lonely road and the people inside would stare in his direction but the long grass hid him. He had a serious frown and thin, pursed lips with a protruding jaw. Whilst lying there in the rain he chain-smoked a cigarette, carefully putting the buts in his pocket to ensure no evidence was left, and watched the view below. Occasionally the man would look at his watch and slyly smile to himself, and then he would go back to watching the house. Every so often, when he was sure that no one was about, he lifted the rifle and sighted down to the front of the house slowly and patiently.
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The house that he was over-looking was dull and shabby. It was apparent that it had not been inhabited for many years as the windows were broken, and the roof was caving in. The house had turned a grey colour with dark green moss growing out of the jagged cracks. The back door had fallen down and was slowly decomposing into the ground, leaving behind a strong, putrid stench of the decaying wood. Surrounding the house was a huge garden that contained dying plants and trees, and the grass had overgrown and was turning a nasty brown colour. ...

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