As part of Carr Hill’s ‘We are Reading' challenge we have created a number of 'student author’ posts. The work of our student authors will regularly be shared on the website, in editions of our school magazine and other communication channels. In the next of our student author contributions Year 10 Benjamin shares the next part of his story The Assassin's Last Victim (Part 10). Thank you, Benjamin.
About a day’s time later, they had arrived in Hong Kong. He asked the lawyer, “Is this car okay to drive in Hong Kong?” The lawyer didn’t know and instead didn’t reply to him. He took that as a no and went on a hunt for some fake Hong Kong driver’s plate and license, for him and the lawyer. About an hour later, he arrived at a dark alleyway and the house was new. Very new. It looked like it had been finished last week. It looked almost too new in some strange way. It was as if it had rolled off a production line, but they had forgotten to apply the mandatory layer of colour to it. The windows were huge and seemingly inspired by something truly alien. Anyone could see into the house from an uncomfortable distance. From here, he could see surfaces of white, glossy plastic that iced over the kitchen, granite enforced the walls in their straight, uninspired monotony. There wasn't a single square meter of organic material in sight. Not even a comforting wallpaper that imitated warmth in some way. Not even a plank of wood. The house, it seems, was a liveable, modern mausoleum.
He knocked on the back door with a loud bang. No-one answered the door, instead it flung open, there was the interior of the house is focused around a large central hallway serving as the main avenue of traffic and entrance area to the adjacent rooms. The hallway flows into a large, wide staircase that provides the main means of egress from the entertainment area of the house to the private rooms on the second floor. He slowly walked into the home and shouted, “Is anyone home? Come out now!”
No-one again appeared from the rooms and he entered the office room carefully. The office was painted grey, and it had only one floor-to-ceiling window, which faced the main road. On the grey desk sat a desktop computer, a notebook lying open, and a stack of papers sitting under a turtle-shaped paperweight. In a corner, the air conditioner was blasting at medium, and there was a swivel chair in the middle of the office. A bookshelf, bursting with books was in a corner, with yet another stack of papers under a paperweight that was shaped to look like a tuft of grass. A few pens were lying on the papers, but some had fallen onto the top of the bookshelf.
Quickly, he shuffled through the pieces of papers and saw another hit list. It was a wanted poster for him with a reward of $2 million dollars in unmarked bills. Sneakily, he picked up the wanted poster, folded it up and put it safety in his pocket. Then, he carried on searching the office. Thereupon, he departed the office room and headed forward into the large dining room, it was a grand space, to say the least. The huge mahogany table took up most of the vast space the dark, romantic room offered, left without a tablecloth and daring guests to ruin the perfectly varnished shine with their unworthy fingerprints. Two tall, silver candelabras commanded attention from the centre of the table, holding smooth white candles whose wax never dripped.
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