The Assassin
The sky was scorched crimson as the obscurity of night overpowered the light of day. In the distance the picturesque profile of London was perceptible under the blanket of radiant silver stars. Beneath this unique declaration of splendour a solitary silhouette was projected against the wall of a dimly lit back alley. He had an unnaturally intense glare, his vision passionately focused on an excruciatingly striking cerise TVR Tuscan. It was almost time. Despite the evident risk he was undertaking his eyes portrayed obsession, infatuation and desire to realize his acutely elusive vocation.
The moon shone through the bare branches of an old oak tree casting ghostly shadows on the transparent sheet of astonishingly delicate ice. As the unique complicity of crystallised snowflakes descended delicately from the sky, the searchlight of a police helicopter briefly illuminated the car park. He remained unruffled by this passing scare.
