Harping on and on

Sorry that I keep mentioning my hard drive.
But it has taken up a large portion of my thoughts recently.
I was clearing though old school documents today and found this that I wrote when I was in year 9.
It is VERY clear that I had been reading a lot of scary short stories at the time.


The Assassin.


She perched precariously on the three-legged stool, which was slowly sinking into the sodden earth, and pulled her hood further down, over her forehead. From a distance she blended in perfectly with the murky green grass. She pulled one of her boots from the ground and crossed and uncrossed her legs impatiently. The once lush green turf had slowly morphed into a muddy lake. Her startling blue eyes peered out from under finely shaped auburn eyebrows, her face was calm and serene, only her never blinking eyes portrayed the determination and hatred that was gathering inside her, like the storm clouds above. Not long now, she thought. Through the muggy air drifted the all knowing sent of death.


The clouds above deepened as behind them the sun, whose constant brightness was long forgotten in the constant downpour, began its final farewell. A few stray rays of magenta light broke through a slit in the unending carpet, and after forcing through the towering firs, lit up the abandoned barn with the burning intensity of real flames. The dry stone wall over the road caught a small amount of these snatches of sun and showed the raindrops shining on the mossy surface. Like an old mans bones the gate creaked as the wind hustled past, the lamp above flickered into life.


The rain petered out into as fine misty drizzle and a car, not so different to the colour of the weather, drew up the drive and came to an abrupt halt. Out of it stepped a woman, you know the sort, tall and blonde with a fine figure. She crunched up the pebbled drive, cursing as the rain curled her hair, and stepped into the sphere of orange light that surrounded the towering lamp. It lit up her perfectly chiselled face. She shivered, it may have been the cold; also a warning, and then pulled her fashionable coat further over her chest in an attempt to stay warm. She reached for the bell and the assassin realised, now or never.


Weeks of sneaking out, with the rifle, when he thought she was learning Spanish. Going down to the park each week to shoot the clay pigeons, practicing, perfecting till she was confident and ready. All the time leaving him and that woman together. It all boils down to these few seconds. This will teach him, she thought, what a fool he has been. Without a flutter of hesitation her finger found the trigger, and squeezed. The gun jumped. But she had calculated perfectly and the bulled hit the target. The body’s life drained visibly away as a fount of blood burst from her. She slumped to the ground and emitted a faint thud.


The assassin stood, leaving her belongings behind a small shrub, where she could return for them later. Taking only the rifle she walked, tripping slightly on invisible tussocks of grass she picked her way down the slope to the house. The same scene as usual met her gaze, only the victim’s body, still with a look of surprise stamped on her features, was out of place. She swatted at the moths that hovered around the flickering lamp, and caught one with the back of her hand, the life left it with such ease, she had become good at this, a killing machine. Soon her husband would be investigating to see where his girl was. What a surprise it would be to him when he opens the door, not to his lover, but to his wife, pointing his own rifle into his own startled eyes. A smirk breached the corner of her mouth, but she quickly hid it. She wanted to remain emotionless, which was easy, apart from the triumph reflected in her eyes.

It was probably the best thing I'd written up to that point in my life, I've never really been that good at English Language, I much preferred ripping apart the writing of others instead!

Right now I'm listening to Jon Richardson and deciding what to wear while I do a customary holiday floor clear.

Phwoar, Captain Jack on my calendar :D

The Buttercup Syrup cough sweets are FOUL.

I finished my Nerdfighter shoes.
Leaving only a small space for the future.



If you click on it you'll get A3 detail!

Right.
That is that done.
I want my computer off.

BAI


"the fhumngj mjku threy fkrfimk thrujm gbfhjujfk ghy jgmti g"

Hazel found her Baby All Gone pot of food, it says that on the side.
It comes up no where on the interwebs through a google search.
Oh crazy 90s toys.