User blog:TheInterestedDoge/practice/boredom


 * Each individual droplet was a cold strike to his scantily protected skin. The wind worsened the feel, as he shivered throughout his journey to the house beside his. He entered the small cottage with minimal effort to keep quiet; nobody inside would be able to hear a door open in this weather, even if they were awake. Beforehand, there was no sign of a light on, nor a window open. They were asleep. Paranoid of someone else in the house, or potentially someone watching over him, he swiftly crept into the nearest room: a small kitchen, surrounded by cabinets and a table with some bowls and silverware. They were laid out as in preparation for a feast, yet there were no traces of food on them. They were clean.
 * Questioning why he had stood there for far too long, pondering upon something out of place that he had noticed, he backed into the corridor again. There were three doors left, and none had their lights on. He breathed heavily, wiping sweat off his forehead. Alice had told them the identity of his target, and Mr. Banks wanted him dead immediately. Yet he was suspicious– there had been rumors of someone, unbeknownst to the public, who was relocating people with no observable intention. The had already been killed by a  just yesterday. Two others were mauled by a, including young Phillips.
 * Constantly fearing for his life, he steadied his hands on his firearm as he creaked open the next door. Proctor was asleep in his bed, apparently excessively drooling all over the pillow his head rested upon. Slightly less stressed, he moved towards the target. He jumped as he heard a wailing scream from next door, and two gunshots. The window was high above the bed, and only the moonlight shined through. Not much could be seen of the room he stood in.
 * Still shaking, he steadied the pistol at Proctor's head, and took one last look at his face. As he pulled the trigger, streaks of blood and parts that were once in Proctor's body had spread across the room. He looked to the left to see a mirror– his eyes widened (marginally more than they had already been) when he first saw himself. He wiped the blood off his body with the sheets on Proctor's bed, and walked out of the room after he placed a sheet of paper beside the corpse.
 * Out of curiosity and keeping in mind the time, his bloodshot eyes looked in another room to find an office with a knife, gun, vest, and what seemed to be military uniform. As Alice had suspected, this was indeed who they need to kill off first.
 * He then backed out of the room, not caring to observe the last of the four rooms. He paced out of the cottage back onto the rainy, dirt path. A bolt of lightning had hit someone's house on the east district, and there was a bright, orange light visible from within. He turned left towards his house, allowing the rain to wash off any other unwanted artifacts he had unintentionally retrieved from what once was Proctor's living space.
 * As his door was unlocked, he rested his cap on the hat rack, along with his jacket, shutting the door as he did so. He coughed twice as he paced back into his bedroom, leaving a trail of water from his soaked clothing and boots. He placed the revolver in a safe hidden in the corner of his closet, along with six bullets had he needed them on his mission. He peered at the clock, and hurried to his front window, clutching a candle. He held it up to the front window, proceeding to cover the candlelight with a large book twelve times in succession. An itch in his throat caused him to stumble when he coughed once again, sliding on the carpet with the candle in hand. He quickly regained his balance, and set the candle on the desk, sniffling and quivering from the cold that had leaked into his home, somewhat lightheaded from what had occurred minutes ago.
 * Again, he walked to his bedroom, where he cleaned up himself, cautious of any noises that may arise from his door, or windows. As he looked at his reflection in the mirror, he could see a small streak of crimson liquid run down from his bottom lip. He attempted to wipe it off with ease, and stopped when he realized he successfully did so. His stomach became uneasy as he began to lose balance. Rushing to the kitchen, he fetched a pail of water, dropping it on the floor below him, and coughed repeatedly; uncontrollably. He slowed his movement, as he curled onto the ground with a bulging facial expression, vomiting blood onto the wooden floor.
 * As his body finally tensed up, a pool of red liquid surrounded his body while his face remained pale and motionless. That morning, Mr. Banks would discover that he had already lost two members of his organization, whilst another was being placed on trial. His 's final kill was useless– a rampant would have done the job for them.
 * The witches would be silently laughing at the chaos they had unleashed those first few nights.