Pretending.
The moon was bright overhead as he packed up his remaining belongings; there wasn't much for him to grab but he still proceeded to handle each item with caution. The deep crimson red that stained both he and his tools was quickly becoming nothing more than another mess for him to clean later.
Pretending.
The house he arrived at was dark and eerie; the family that lived there had turned in long before he had decided to make an appearance, making his job easier for him. His large boots thumped against the porch as he easily picked the lock to get inside, his large hands twisting the shimmering handle and swinging the door open wide, making it slam into the adjacent wall.
Pretending.
The man of the house, or so he presumed, was sleeping peacefully on the couch, his snores drowning out the footsteps that pad over to him with dark intentions.
The saw will do.
He didn't care who heard him. He drew his common shed tool, a handheld saw, and relished in the way it shone in the light of the moon. He knew what he was about to do would be a dangerous crime, but nothing to him mattered anymore. The deep red that would forever stain the walls and his innocence was all he cared for.
He would pretend.
He would put on a show for those damned cops.
YOU ARE READING
My Original Works
De TodoThe random short stories that I've come up with in my spare time; most are the product of single word prompts, others are just ideas that I had to jot down. Regardless, I hope you enjoy them!
