Bec: Screams of Death.

I sat on my windowsill, wondering whether I should go a-soul-saving tonight, I sighed and swung my legs back inside. I had too much homework, and what will one night of  skipping out do?

Not much.

As I scrawled down my essay on a piece of crumpled paper, my head was filled with guilt. I could almost hear the screams of the dead. . .wait. . .

That is the scream of the dead! I stuck my head out of the window, wondering whether it was just some of the annoying, drunk Londoners. But no, this was death.

Grumbling to myself about my life being suckish, I pulled on my hoodie over my pajama top and changed into some jeans. I pressed a finger to my forehead and gritted my teeth as the pale red light washed over my body.

'Hammer.’ I ordered my body, I swallowed back my cry of pain as my weapon made it's way out of my forehead. Nice. No, really, just what I want on a freezing cold, Monday night.

I hopped out of my window, my door already locked and sprinted down the street.

As I stared at the spot where the soul had been brutally sliced in two, a moving shadow caught my eye and I looked up just in time to see a boy running along the rooftop, with a scythe resting over his shoulder.

. . .what?

The End

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