This week’s words: Eye Socket Atmosphere Sculpture Bemoan Whoosh 24 hours Glance Lethargic Instinct Categorize Draw Tootle (v))make a series of sounds by blowing a horn, trumpet, or similar instrument: travel or go in a leisurely way) or (n)) an act or sound of blowing a horn, trumpet, or similar instrument: a leisurely journey)
It had been 24 hours since he had given himself permission to move. His eyes were burning inside his eye sockets as he’d not given himself permission to glance sideways for fear of missing his target.
He knew any giving into lethargy could be fatal. As a professional assassin, his instinct for survival and desire to complete his mission overrode any thoughts of lethargy.
There were times when he bemoaned his mother’s request, he become an accountant, but then would he have been able to draw on his natural instincts in a profession such as this.
As the dawn approached, he could feel the atmosphere tighten as he knew his target would appear soon, walk across the square to the sculpture of the towns founding father, light a cigarette and at that point, his life would come to an end. The target was categorised as a low-level target but one that was necessary to be removed and who was he to argue otherwise. A job was a job.
Away in the distance, he could hear the whoosh of the morning traffic and the occasional tootle of car horns as the city wound up for another day.
Looking down the sights on his high powered rifle, he watched as his target lit his last cigarette.