VAGUE

CHAPTER 5 (PART 3)

CHAPTER 5

-PART THREE-

Not every trauma creates a killer, but most killers are created from trauma

Revenge is a dish best served cold,' so goes the saying. My trouble is that I go off the boil fairly quickly by which time most of my vengeance has evaporated. But I had promised on this occasion, to give back as good as I'd got, and so determined, setting the date on which I would go into the attack. I stifled a yawn.

Was I missing anything good on the scene?

And more to the point, had I enough gas in my tank to get there, or would I have to stop and buy some? I heaved myself off the sofa, put on a warm woolly coat, picked up my bag and made for the car. I checked the petrol gauge. The needle was not quite touching empty. My 1964 Aston Martini DB5 would, with a bit of luck, just make it there and back. By the time I reached my drive: dark, long and twisty, the kind you see on television movies, my heart was starting to pump loud and strong. At last my energy was up and I was ready for the kill. As I turned out of the next bend,

there it was, the house

large, old and stately, a Gothic-like pile half hidden amongst trees.

I parked behind a Rhododendron bush and walked the last hundred yards. It was freezing cold yet sweating hot, I wished that I had worn a hoodie instead of a wool jacket. I crept up to the window and tentatively looked in. There she was, sitting bolt upright on a hard seat, knitting. I tapped on the window like a naughty child hid from sight. After a space of a couple of minutes I dared to glance once more through the panes of glass, she was still knitting, pulling her brown wool close to her side as though it were a friend.

Looking around if there was a possible way to go in,

I can sense a terrible strange feeling about this house

It is like this house had become aware of itself, history that echoed within the walls. Somewhere within, mixed with the pain, were images of soft flowers. Yet, if inside felt stagnant, just as a river, it simply needed to flow. After time unmeasured, the house opened each door and window. It shivered at first, for the wind felt cold and it was used to the dust and the odor of nothing. It was about to close, to find a way to love the isolation, to become one with the rats who crawled and the sticky spider webs, when it came the fragrance of soft flowers. They say that the pain blew right out of that house a little at a time and the nature that house craved entered a little at time the birdsong, blossom and sunshine.

Its noteworthy garage seems to be empty, looks like her spouse has something important errands. Looking at every corner of the house to find any holes that I can use as an entrance. A silky white vinyl frame seems to be his room window. I smirk as I've already find a way to go in. slowly walk to the left side of this house to manipulate how can I go to the location of the window without getting caught.

As I measured how high the glass is I prepared myself to jump like I wasn't worry that I'm wearing a heeled boot.

Silly me.

Trying for the first time seems impossible to reach the peak. walk backward and prepare for a second try, as I reach its wooden window sill I stuck my leader sort type boots to the brick wall of the house and starts to climb to reach the ledge of the gigantic size window. When my plan succeeds by entering the room, I immediately try to bring back my complexion, stretching arms and foot gives me relaxation.

The place where everyone can feel the word comfortable, and show his personality, his bedroom. This is the place where he can really be himself and do what he wants, place where he come straight home after school, and wake up every day. Room that makes him comfortable because it is his own personal space. It has many pictures that taken, about his friends.