This is just something I had to write for English... a very short narrative that I juts thought I'd share! I would almost consider it poetry--it's that succinct.
It’s eight o’clock on a Monday. She lays in wait for her prey. The clock ticks down the seconds until she’ll pounce. Her heart flutters with anticipation. It’s been months since the last interaction between her and the hunted. The door swings open, and the fluttering becomes fully fledged flying… false alarm. The door opens again and the cold wind blows through it. There he is. She draws a breath, and dives in for the kill. “Good morning,”… dead.
