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The Assassin Essay


They were both very tall and one even came up to the assassin’s waist. “Hush Spike! Oliver! Jeez, what’s gotten into you two today? ” a wizened voice asked the hounds, annoyed. “What’s goin’ on down there? ” The voice was getting louder as she slowly hobbled closer. There was no time to waste. The assassin forced herself to her senses and began desperately thrusting her head left and right. There must be somewhere to hide in a place as ill-kept as this. Hurriedly, she dived under a table which was covered in a yellowed cloth, drawing her knees up to her chest so that she was relatively out of view.

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The tablecloth was much too large for the table, and as a result, it draped over the sides and hung closely to the floor. The unmistakable sound of slipper-shuffling could be heard as the old woman entered the room. “‘Ello? Who’s there? ” The voice was creaky and high-pitched, and very much reminded the assassin of a poorly-oiled door. She could also detect an element of suspicion and fear in the tone. Dull thuds emitted from the old woman’s slippers as they stuck onto the wet newspaper and flapped back onto her heels. Terrified and riddled with confusion, the assassin tried her best to keep herself out of view and her weapon concealed.

But she did not have all day to complete the job. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead as she grew ever tense; she was stuck. Two elephantine ankles slid into view beside her. The feet were enveloped in two immense balls of fuzz sprouting measly cloth ears, googly eyes and noses. She decided that they were meant to resemble bunnies. But she had to finish her task sometime. A fearsome jolt of adrenaline coursed through her veins as she managed to brace herself. Stealthily, silently, she rose from underneath the table to full stature. The old woman was on the opposite side to her.

There was only time to take a quick glance at her victim before it met its fatality. For that split-second, grey bloodshot eyes cushioned in wrinkles met the assassin’s. The hair was permed into tight curls, frizzy and white. She was clothed in a loose rose-pink nightgown, patterned with what appeared to be purple lilies. Her skin was cracked and dry, and she was fairly overweight, double-chinned, with a curved spine that deducted from her height. Terror was cast upon her creased face upon spotting the stranger. They glanced at each other from either side of the table.

But in this brief moment, the assassin had also noticed the handgun grasped in her bony hands. Bang. A pathetic gurgle rose from the old woman’s throat as she dropped limply to her knees. Crimson blood seeped from the corners of her mouth and the wound in her chest as she remained there to live out her dying moments. The pink nightgown blackened as blood oozed into it. Head lolling back, she lost her balance and fell backwards onto the wet newspapers. Her digits unfurled slowly and released the gun. Her eyes were still open, staring blankly into an empty cupboard…

Lanced with remorse at the bone-chilling scene that lay before her, the assassin exhaled a sigh of relief. It was close, but she had finally managed to despatch of her enemy. She turned away, pondering whether to collect the money from within the house or dispose of the body. But her muse was interrupted by the periodic flashing of blue in the window, and the shriek of sirens. Show preview only The above preview is unformatted text This student written piece of work is one of many that can be found in our GCSE Miscellaneous section.

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