Eight Down

It was a very gloomy afternoon. The rain fell so hard it was as if the clouds were furious with their presence and were hurling them down to the ground.

A man was just leaving the local pub. The street was empty, no one around. No people, no birds, nothing. Just the stench of old beer that had been spilled around the outside of the pub.

The man, who was obviously not entirely sober, lurched his way across the road. Little did he know that he was being watched.


Suddenly, a shot rang out. The sound blistering the silent atmosphere. The killer had hit their target and watched as the bullet penetrated the mans head, splitting the bone. Brain matter sprayed into the air and the man slumped to the ground with a sickening thud.

The assassin emerged and stared at their victim as the blood pooled around their now decimated head. Removing a small razor blade, they proceeded to cut a small line into their already scarred arm.

“Eight down, two to go.”

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