Ferret
Explorer
This is a little(very little) story, it was a homework that I was set.
“Need to clean the tools!” Murmured a voice from the dark flat, the man meandered in the dark to the light switch.
When the lights came on the mans pupils grew like a cat, large and bloodshot .He strolled casually past the blood stained walls and picked up a pot of polish, and whipped away the cloth.
All sorts of weaponry, Katar, Katana, all sorts of blades not to mention Junior. The man’s glazed eyes flashed over the big, red chainsaw and he patted it as any ordinary man would pat a dog. But it didn’t end there; he also owned several very illegal guns. A .357 was his favourite, his favourite toy.
Out on the lamp-lit streets Richard soon found Victim #124. His secret? Every town has one or two murders, right? And when you see a man with blood on his jacket he’s got to be the killer but when the mans not there things get tough.
Now then, nice and quiet OAP’s have better hearing then you might think. Quickly he pulled Junior’s cord, drew the chainsaw down, and cut her frail arm off.
“Damn, that felt good,” he said as he checked his pockets “Ha, Ha” Laughed Richard. The sound bellowed through the trees as he got up, smelling the bag of his medicine, which was empty, “I already took it,” said Richard as he pulled out a long manuscript and scribbled ‘#124 old lady, chainsaw.’ “Now for #125.”
He found a young man 24 maybe, had the “punk” look on him,
“Got a light mate?” The man threw something towards him, a lighter. Richard caught it, and lit his vodka with it. He threw it, smacking the man in the head, which exploded. “What a waste of booze.” said Richard walking off. Suddenly he swung around, off balance. He fell, dropping the lighter behind him “Oh shahs…” He shouted trailing his words. Junior had leaked oil everywhere; Richard was engulfed in the flame created from the small spark of the lighter. Burning from the outside in, he writhed, until, skin dripping; finnly dead in the inferno.
“Need to clean the tools!” Murmured a voice from the dark flat, the man meandered in the dark to the light switch.
When the lights came on the mans pupils grew like a cat, large and bloodshot .He strolled casually past the blood stained walls and picked up a pot of polish, and whipped away the cloth.
All sorts of weaponry, Katar, Katana, all sorts of blades not to mention Junior. The man’s glazed eyes flashed over the big, red chainsaw and he patted it as any ordinary man would pat a dog. But it didn’t end there; he also owned several very illegal guns. A .357 was his favourite, his favourite toy.
Out on the lamp-lit streets Richard soon found Victim #124. His secret? Every town has one or two murders, right? And when you see a man with blood on his jacket he’s got to be the killer but when the mans not there things get tough.
Now then, nice and quiet OAP’s have better hearing then you might think. Quickly he pulled Junior’s cord, drew the chainsaw down, and cut her frail arm off.
“Damn, that felt good,” he said as he checked his pockets “Ha, Ha” Laughed Richard. The sound bellowed through the trees as he got up, smelling the bag of his medicine, which was empty, “I already took it,” said Richard as he pulled out a long manuscript and scribbled ‘#124 old lady, chainsaw.’ “Now for #125.”
He found a young man 24 maybe, had the “punk” look on him,
“Got a light mate?” The man threw something towards him, a lighter. Richard caught it, and lit his vodka with it. He threw it, smacking the man in the head, which exploded. “What a waste of booze.” said Richard walking off. Suddenly he swung around, off balance. He fell, dropping the lighter behind him “Oh shahs…” He shouted trailing his words. Junior had leaked oil everywhere; Richard was engulfed in the flame created from the small spark of the lighter. Burning from the outside in, he writhed, until, skin dripping; finnly dead in the inferno.
