The Accident - Original Writing Essay -- Papers

The Accident - Original Writing I stinker hear the boisterous wind charging through the icy caverns of the station. My polished, black leather shoes pad against the escalator stairs, as I rub at the chafing collar of my shirt, aware of the irritating dampness. Everything seems to be going against me. Morality has a vice-like grip on my stiff shoulders, and it is beginning to yank me back. Gripping the wintry handle of my briefcase offers some reassurance, but remembering the contents sends an ominous bankrupt up my spine. They did not say the first job would be so hard. The grime, embedded in the rugged tiles, adds to the dingy, depressing surroundings. A crumpled check packet flits across the surface, as another tube roars past. It is as if I have just entered the minotaurs den, and luckily escaped the clutches of the savage beast. I begin to walk more briskly, as an unpleasant stench wafts from the nearby toilets. Have they never heard of such a thi ng as disinfectant or cleaners? Inefficiency is a rapidly spreading disease, and it necessitate a cure soon. Failure to succeed, especially in my line of work, has out of the question consequences. The relative quiet is broken by the monotonous drone of the loudspeaker dictating various platforms, and a raucous group of youths. I glower at them as they began ridiculing a humble tramp who is coughing vigorously, blatantly distressed. My virtuous arrow tells me I should go and prevent this, however the objectives involved embarrass avoiding all human contact. The one on the left hand side, a stocky teenager with a crew cut and a repulsive earring, begins making offensive gestures with his free hand, the oth... ... enveloped the tube. Muffled groans broke the silence. The sprucely milled man with polished hair flicked on his lighter, and activated his phone beam. Beside him was a balding man, blood oozing from a deep gash in his chest. The man with the lighter sat up abruptly, a concerned tactile property on his face. He hastily removed his jacket, and applied it to the wound, in an set about to prevent the blood loss. The balding man grunted, croaking for assistance. A creased take care caught the eye of the suavely dressed man. It was beside the ravaged hand of the balding man. He frowned, recognising the pictures familiarity. On the back, scribbled in red writing, was the word target. Before acting, he reached for the atrocious briefcase that was crushing his foot. He began to click it open. The balding mans left eye fluttered open.