Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Assasin by Allan Deya (i read book .TXT) 📖
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forward; lifeless eyes gazing at me as though I were some sort of monster. Helena scrambles towards the dead Damian, she is searching him, probably looking for some sort of weapon.
She is real mafia; her lover is sprawled at her feet his blood pooling about him and she had yet to shed a tear. Emotions, if any for this type of woman would come after the current threat was dealt with.
“Is this what you want? Is she what you’re after? Well you can’t have her you son of a bitch.” The safety is off she is pointing it at my head; I am smiling, she is livid. A shot rings out.
There is a thin stream of blood trickling just below her left breast; she looks down at it briefly before gazing back up at me with a quizzical expression.
“What is that? Who are you?” she asks, her gun arm is limp, and her breath is short.
I’m looking at her and can’t help but picture Romeo and Juliet when her arm falls across Damian’s chest. “Isn’t it logical my dear” I inquire as her eyes drift shut, “If I am the angel of death, then it follows that I am married to death.”
A bullet zips behind me and sears the ropes binding my arms. I yelp as the heat of the bullet makes contact with my skin; Chris should have been able of pull off that cut without even a whisper of it on my body- I guess he’s still pissed.
Oh! That’s right; I was supposed to properly introduce myself the last time we met, wasn’t I? Well as you can see my circumstances sort of got the better of me. That hunk of a man who just broke through the door, and who is just about to bite my head off, is my lovely husband.
I am a mobster, or rather I am a hitter and he is the mobster; although sometimes I think I was better suited for his job and him for mine. Current predicament being a case in point, but he wouldn’t hear of it; I am to be kept out of harm’s way at all costs.
So he placed me in charge of the muscle division of the enterprise. I am supposed to bark out orders from behind a very high and very well guarded bug free assault withstanding office. Like hell, I will if he gets to go out there and live dangerously then so shall I?
He is behind me now and I know I will be under his constant attention for the ext longest time. I don’t mind though, he will not let me into the boardroom so that means we will spend all that time in the bedroom.
“Caroline. “
After the fight we are just about to have, but hey; make up sex is the best kind there is, right?
Imprint
She is real mafia; her lover is sprawled at her feet his blood pooling about him and she had yet to shed a tear. Emotions, if any for this type of woman would come after the current threat was dealt with.
“Is this what you want? Is she what you’re after? Well you can’t have her you son of a bitch.” The safety is off she is pointing it at my head; I am smiling, she is livid. A shot rings out.
There is a thin stream of blood trickling just below her left breast; she looks down at it briefly before gazing back up at me with a quizzical expression.
“What is that? Who are you?” she asks, her gun arm is limp, and her breath is short.
I’m looking at her and can’t help but picture Romeo and Juliet when her arm falls across Damian’s chest. “Isn’t it logical my dear” I inquire as her eyes drift shut, “If I am the angel of death, then it follows that I am married to death.”
A bullet zips behind me and sears the ropes binding my arms. I yelp as the heat of the bullet makes contact with my skin; Chris should have been able of pull off that cut without even a whisper of it on my body- I guess he’s still pissed.
Oh! That’s right; I was supposed to properly introduce myself the last time we met, wasn’t I? Well as you can see my circumstances sort of got the better of me. That hunk of a man who just broke through the door, and who is just about to bite my head off, is my lovely husband.
I am a mobster, or rather I am a hitter and he is the mobster; although sometimes I think I was better suited for his job and him for mine. Current predicament being a case in point, but he wouldn’t hear of it; I am to be kept out of harm’s way at all costs.
So he placed me in charge of the muscle division of the enterprise. I am supposed to bark out orders from behind a very high and very well guarded bug free assault withstanding office. Like hell, I will if he gets to go out there and live dangerously then so shall I?
He is behind me now and I know I will be under his constant attention for the ext longest time. I don’t mind though, he will not let me into the boardroom so that means we will spend all that time in the bedroom.
“Caroline. “
After the fight we are just about to have, but hey; make up sex is the best kind there is, right?
Imprint
Text: The works within are the sole literary property of Allan Oyugi Deya.
Publication Date: 07-24-2010
All Rights Reserved
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