The Assassin - Creative Writing

The Assassin - Creative Writing
It so happened that she must have got the bus home that night. The old, rusty buses, which have gum stuck to the seat, and cigarette burn marks in the back. The air was cold and icy and you could see your breath in front of you like a puff of smoke, as it hit the frosty air. The night was also dark. It seemed like no light was present as if there was just a massive black hole. The absence of light was incredible, the only source being that of a small flickering house light a mile or two away. A burned out car lay quietly in a nearby ditch silently watching the world go by. A rabbit scuttled past and smoothly glided into its burrow safe, and away from the rain and chill. She walked on, past the giant disused barn, and past the old post office whose large wooden sign creaked uneasily and moaned loudly in the wind. Last year?s calendar still hung on the wall. Pictures from yesteryear were displayed crookedly in the window. The mystery man waited beside the house. An old house rotten with age, worn and battered looking.
It had been mistreated for years, looking helplessly shameful standing in the cold, offering no protection to any one willing to live inside. He crouches in a puddle seemingly unaware of the dampness seeping trough the thin weaving of his faded and bleached overalls. He looks calm and steady. He had done thus before. It was clear by the state of his cloths that this was not his first killing. He held the knife is held firmly in his hand; sometimes a small flicker of the middle finger makes a rustling noise up against a dead leaf next to him. The gardens were elegant and overgrown, full of weeds and uncut grass. A reoccurring silhouette flitted between the bushes and shrubs. The face of the nameless man had an expression of fear and anxiousness as the figure continued to glide over the ground. A black cat appeared and crossed his path leaving the male with a face full of relief and a little shock. The man reshuffled himself, looking slightly uneasy. Still lurking in the graceful grass, he revealed a small cigarette and a dark coloured lighter that blended effortlessly into the background and began to smoke. Each silvery blade of grass around him glistened beautifully in the rain. Droplets falling off the end, and bombing the earth, being soaked up rapidly by the thirsty ground below. The figure adjusted itself surreptitiously, hiding in the grass, waiting unnerved and calm for his moment was soon to come. His nerves dispersed as he focused on his prey and the ensuing deed. The girl walked along the muddy water ridden horse track and hurried up the drive to her house. Her next-door neighbours had long sinced past away, leaving behind only a dirty old wooden house with woodworm and housed to many families of the animal kind. She hurries on towards her front door, only minutes away, seconds, she fumbles around in her bag for her keys, tucking her shiny dark hair behind her ear, which has been dampened by the rain. Suddenly the girl feels a strong firm grip tightened around her waist. A small squeal is let out before her mouth is smothered with a dirty grey handkerchief. She struggles for breath, terrified and sweating, but the grip of her attacker is far too strong and she cannot get free, struggling more every second, the girl is dragged through the bushes her hair and clothes tearing on the twigs and thorns. Blood streams from her cuts and she wriggles about in pain. Her attacker however, feels nothing as his hands are cut on the same thorns. He stays calm. He pulls out a long sharp, shiny piece of metal with a rubber handle from a pocket in his jacket. The girl tries to scream as she sees this and is placed under her throat the tip of the knife poking her voice box, and making her want to choke. The knife is pulled across her neck, and the job has been completed. Her screams all go in vain. The assassin as he is now known leaves the limp body bathing in a pool of blood buried in the long grass, for some one to find. He clears up any lose ends that would confirm his whereabouts that night and hurries off. A rabbit runs past him quickly before settling in a burnt out old car, stiff and alert. All he has to do now is stumble around in his pocket for his car keys and drive home. Suddenly a tight firm grip holds him around the waist and drags him into a muddy ditch. The assassin pulls out a knife . . .

The Assassin - Creative Writing 6.9 of 10 on the basis of 3293 Review.