The Assassin. As the bitter night wore on, an eccentric gloomy figure patiently rested behind a remote and dilapidated house. The rain was cascading down and his clothes were sodden

 Even with the dreary and dismal environment that encircled him, he focused rather intently on the forbidding, squalid house. It had been rejected in the isolated suburbs and was decaying parallel to other identical houses that also had their own exclusive symbol of stillness. This unkempt house had cracked windows through which he could make out the wrecked slats of the Venetian blinds. With the moon progressively emerging from behind the clouds he perceived the overgrown grass…….

    The black murky paint was leisurely flaking off the wooden front door and the downstairs shutters beat rhythmically against the shattered windows to the sound of the gale. Soaring high above an army of clouds, black as coal accumulated in the sky to worsen/supply/contribute to/ the tedious but energetic rain, which was deluging the gutters. The bleak weather accommodated his barbaric and ruthless soul.

Enthusiastically, he glanced up. A gleam of triumph in both his eyes and a light of recognition spread across his face as the midnight blue car rumbled onto the steep slippery path leading to the house. It pulled onto the eroded drive at the side of the house and he glared at it with a high-voltage stare. He examined the dented bumper, split headlight and the defective windscreen wiper; the unique marks, which made the driver his defenseless victim. The recollections of pain and hate whizzed through his mind. His back started to incessantly sweat. It was an idea so daring and so audaciously tempting that a shiver of excitement quivered through him. Privately, he fixed his wicked red eyes on the driver, who was unconscious of his company. The smashed headlights stopped and the grumbling sound of the engine came to a halt.