The door creaked.
The knob screeched
The sound of footsteps
In the depths of nowhere.
In a sluggish movement
It Moved
Slowly, very slowly
And came to a halt.
There it stood
In a grave
Infront of a person
who died in 1988
The sound of the rythm
The quietness of the shadows
Nothing like colourful
Green meadows.
As the assasin skated along the surface,
Waiting for the kill
Looking out,
Out of the window sill
It welcomed me,
when i was out of breath
Then it said,
"Are you ready for Death?"
