A Story Based On No Reals Facts Or Research

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Disclaimer: This is a fictional story based on no reals facts or research Accomplice Grey wallpaper. Typical. He told me to meet him here an hour ago and I’m getting impatient. The waiter comes over and aske’s me if I want something to drink. I shake my head, he walks of disgruntled. He’s not getting a tip. There he is, Greg always late. He sits down and avoids eye contact then takes of his tattered leather jacket. Clearing his throat he starts to explain himself. It’s not the first time he’s done this. I shake my head pretending to be in disbelief but I know he’ll do it again; he was a selfish insufferable human being. I just hoped I wouldn’t be next. You see Greg very was dangerous. Greg was a murderer. The waiter returns, this time with a more positive attitude. Smart move. Greg glances at him analytically; he was good at summarizing a person by their look, smell, and attitude, even how many seconds it took them to blink. Greg says the longer they hesitate, the weaker they are. He requests for a glass of red wine and a bottle of water. I stare at him suspiciously; he looks at me then winks. His blue eyes usually bright and full of life looked icy. My lip begins to uncontrollably quiver. Greg said he loved me once as he wiped the dirt of my face after I fell over, I still remember the way his smile forced out his faint dimple; it would have been even more romantic if we weren’t in a forest. My flashback is interrupted by sound of the waiter stomping over to our table. Greg slowly starts to drink his wine and it takes me a minute to notice. He was always very quiet, he ate quietly, talked quietly he even breathed quietly. “We put it in the park,” he says coldly, I nod and take a sip of water. The coldness tingles my teeth. We l... ... middle of paper ... ...o resist. I wake up in a hospital and in walks a cheery nurse. I hated cheery people. “You got lucky this time missy!” She says too joyfully for my liking. She fills out some forms and checks random parts of my body then leaves. I hear a familiar sound from a distant TV, noticing quickly that a TV was near my bed I turn it on. “Serial killer Greg Hunter arrested this evening he is thought to have murdered over 40 different women” the reporter reads. A picture of his mugshot flashes onto the screen. “Very handsome,” I whisper. This is when I begin to feel nauseous because I knew the next time I’d visit him would be in jail. I glance at the TV again the reporter briefly came out of character and shook his head. Four months pass and Greg is found guilty on 47 counts of murder. I knew the other two girls Alison Terry and Georgia Hundlesworth both 13 we buried them in a

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