Creative Writing: The Assassin

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He was lying there still and calm, oblivious to the rain pouring
through the holes in the rusted roof. The warehouse was abandoned
many years ago, the air was thick with dust making it difficult to
breathe; the smell was like burnt toast. The disused machinery
loomed out of the dark corners, covered in cobwebs ghostly images.

The Assassin was unaware of his immediate surroundings, his mind
focused on his mission. His vantage point gave him a perfect line of

A neglected road that was parallel to the decaying wasteland where
homeless people built their makeshift homes lay between the Assassin,
his targets hideout.

He heard a rumble in the distance; it was coming closer by the second,
as a car emerged from the night.

He was surprised by a car’s unusual presence on the decrepit road,
what did this mean, was this to be his target?

The car passed unnoticed by the cardboard city dwellers, it travelled
down the road disappearing into the night, the cars lights looked like
the savage eyes of a trained killer dog.

Still he waited; again he sighted his rifle, waiting for a sign to
make his move.

Out of the darkness the rain began to fall like meteors crashing down
on the dented rusted roof, as the storm closed in. Flashes of
lightening lit up the dark clouds as the thunder became like the drums
of Hell.

The Assassin watched like a hawk; there was no sign of his target; the
house was engulfed by the darkness, lit only by intermittent flashes
of lightening.

The engine noise returned of the car with its eyes shut slowly passed
once more, mud from the wasteland covering the licence plates. The
car was old and coming to its end the engine grumbled as it came to a
stop outside the house.

The parked car’s engine switched off, the rain poured down the cracked
windscreen as the windows slowly began to cloud up.

How to Cite this Page

MLA Citation:
"Creative Writing: The Assassin." 28 Mar 2017

The Assassin
waited, was it time?

The driver side door opened, he glared through the scope, finger on
the trigger as the target emerged from the vehicle.

The target was a young dark-haired woman, elegant yet the scars that
painted her face gave a much worse picture.

The rain poured down, drenching the targets every move as she walked
towards the front door of the house. The Assassin held his nerve, not
moving a muscle, not making a sound as he followed her every step with
the crosshair of his weapon.

The temperature dropped to a cold freeze as the Assassins every breath
was visible like a warm chimney in winter.

He dragged his hand towards the laser sight switch. He flicked the
switch on, the light shone on the back of her mind. She came closer
by the second to meeting Death that was coming for her out Dark, wet
night. She turned and faced the Assassin as the beam flashed before
her, as she looked him in the eye.

Silence. Silence, as the final blow was struck with the force of

The window looked like a spiders web growing outward as the bullet
passed through her and shattered the glass.

She dropped, like a dead weight she hit the floor with the sound of a
muffled thump.

The Assassin felt nothing for his victim, he never did and all that
mattered to him was the clean kill.

He gathered his sights, packed his rifle and brushed away the evidence
of his presence as he picked the shell of the fired bullet still hot;
he placed it in the box with the other spent cases. How many were in
the box, he stopped counting a long time ago but he still kept his

He swung his bag over his shoulder, he looked back to see the cobweb
covered machinery, no trace of his presence was left disappearing into
the night to wait foe his next victim.

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