Occupation to Kill ---jr high assignment

  A cool breeze came through my open window. The room had me exhausted. It was hot and stuff. I couldn’t find anything to do, since my last assignment. I had been told to stay inside for a while, because my employer and his partner thought my job would wear me out. I said I loved it; my occupation was to kill. Last night I received a call from Mr. Hacque, my employer. He told me my next assignment would last for months and years to come. I asked him what it was, and he said, “to Kill Dr. Watn.” Dr. Watn is and was the most famous doctor in the world. He discovered a cure for cancer, a single shot in the neck, feet, and waist: Goomise gloomis, cured by boiling mushrooms telling the patients to eat the mushrooms to clean their systems out: an Ausulon, a disease to the bowls, cured by bathing in baby oil and warm water. I couldn’t kill him. Dr. Watn had a seminar to attend two weeks from now and I plan to kill him thn. It might not be easy so I should start my planning and operation in hand. First, I decided to learn a floor plan of the Hall he is to attend; I think it’s Dempsy. Second, I had to buy the kind of gun that after it’s fired once it will self-destruct: I could get one easily by my personal dealer, Mr. Kp Mackenzie. Kip’s about five feet five inches tall, brown hair, blue eyes, medium build, and for the last touch a housewarming smile. He is always happy and delighted to do business. I called him up and he told me he would have it ready whenever I wanted to come and retrieve it, but I had to call first. One and one-half weeks had passed; it was time for me to retrieve my order for the gun. I called Kip. He told me I could pick it up when I was ready. I was-that very same day. Today was the day Dr. Watn planned to speak on personal hygiene and disease. The Hall was supposed to be full. What a sight to see, Dr. Watn falling down spilling with blood, and no one would know what happened, not Kip, Mr. Abacque, and I. His opening words were, “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” then I let him have it. You should have seen his face. He grabbed his chest in agone and then there was this ear-splitting explosion; it was the gun. I left the building confident as could be. Little did I know someone was following me. I figured I was considered a loose end, because of the way I purchased the gun, I guess. I heard this nap behind me; I turned around. This man, about thirty-five years of age, medium height, medium weight, black hair, and brown eyes said, “I’ve had my eyes on you. I was hired to watch you.” “Wdo you have to watch me?” I asked. “You are a very loose end. After Dr Watn was shot, you left right away and didn’t even show any interest in what had happened. Don’t you know that he, the doorman, was watching you and the rapidity with which you left.” “He could have thought I was going for help,” I replied. “He was in too much of a shock.” “No!” he replied. “Now I must perform my job,” he reiterated. He laughed and laughed as he shoved me into a back alley. A rat ran across the way, and I screamed. He laughed and called me a little sissy. I punched him in the mouth and that was my last straw. I heard his gun sap. He pointed it to the back of my head. “Now say your prayers, preppy,” he grunted. I told him I do what I want. He pulled the pistol and I fell down, crying. I knew what it felt like dying and don’t know who shot you. So, with the little strength I had left, I wrote a confession and prayed that they found it and put my employer in jail. 198