The Gunmans Job

Help Me

It was the 24th of December, 2004. A cold icy wind had broken out, and a man stood on a small pier. He was dressed in all black, as though he was going to or from a funeral. His hair was a jet black wave, just like to water he was stood upon. His short beard added an old feature to his young face. His eyes, a dark brown colour stood out from the scar that that ran from his forehead to his mouth. A tear rolled down his soft, pale cheeks onto his neck. His mouth opened and said two words; help me. As he said this, more cold, icy tears ran down his face. This man was called Mark, his dead wife, Anna. This same pier was the one place they both loved, but he loved it no more. This was the pier that he and his wife had been attacked by gunmen. It was exactly four lonely years ago that this terrible incident had occured.