Old Man Monologue

The old man met many of the faces of death that caught in a sweat. It dripped down the bloodied face and the man front who glared like a steel coldness rocked the thin, pomposity room with its walls bared, the floor wetted by the pouring pools of red liquid.

"You know I need some information about your hurting around my client's business. You understand in the course of action if you lie," the hitman said, emboldened in dark batted eyes. The streamed of blood remineralised like a lack of sympathy for the man's condition, weeped and gone to a storm like it deluted. He stood back and faced the man for a while, the pieces were like ointment where you wished to leave, washed his hands. It smelt like sick and under the influence of death's door as if it was a drink. He gulped it but that whole taste numbered the bitterness as to a …show more content…
As that morning, when he was gardening and took roots of the weeds out.

"Your face tells another story." He went close to the face that grown of a simple perturbed agony, toward his life held and what this man was capable of, where twisted like empathy ruled out, was decreed by aftermention. As the old man who had a eye of crying out in a home or the room nestled of mixed of hour, he forced himself to turn away.

Many face may had been taken of such a brutality of this torture like as if was a photograph, and as you picked it up, incepted it before you slammed it down onto the table as the glimpsed of evil bathed in a different clothing. The man held by a rope that felt normality thrown out the window as sneered of blood saturated the disgusted sight. It was something that been seen before but it never changed in a single life. It laid a nest that grew hungry and so refilled with flesh that left the same mark, like a ballpoint pen ink dotted on the arm of the next