Killing Mr. Adams

Prologue

On the night of February 7, London, Britain around 2 in the morning: rain was completely destroying the dampening roof off a sleazy hotel room. The dark walls dripping with rain and a brownish red substance was smeared over the pale blue walls. The window, in the square room, was open as wide as it could be, letting the rain slash in to the room and soak the cheap carpet clean off the mess it contained. Loud, operatic music was bleeding loudly out into the battle of sounds and it swirled around with the rhythmic thuds of murderous rain fall. The music grew louder, winning the battle against the rain as a powerful, feminine voice entered to symphony of violins and chellos humming a lazy, romantic tune. The singer singing words in German, her accent causing the weather to lull into a slower pace of determination.

In the hard, simplistic and lonely bed, laid a man. His ear plugs in and the classical music floating out from them in beautifully composed harmonies. He, himself, was beautiful. His defined figures handsomely sculpted into giving him a sharp jaw line that gave his heart shape face more of a point, his brilliant cheek bones high and well shadowed against the moonlight, making his face even and mirrored. His hair was dark and well styled so that it could fall in front of his eyes in a lazily, dashing way and gave women, and men, the subtle urge to run their hands through the silky, soft locks. But what really made this man beautiful, was his eyes; their colour completely unique and intriguing. The colours of gold and emerald swirled into one, shine from his mischievous pupils, the green bright and piercing but the gold, that was slashed around it, seemed to give him a calm and collective look. His eyes were hypnotising, the combination of colours so beautiful it hurt.

This god like being, was lying on the right hand side of a hard, uncomfortable, dirty bed, with his head phones in listening to loud beautiful classical music during the middle of a storm, with the window open. That seemed very normal. It was normal, but what made this scene so different, so dangerously unique, was the fact that the walls were decorated in heavy splashes of blood, the carpet completely dyed in the crimson colour and drowning in the liquid, lying, shredded, on the floor, partnering the colour of the deep, rich red, was the two wide, glassy, lifeless eyes of a woman.