[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/YMxDxqd.jpg[/img][/center]
[b][u][i][color=9e0b0f][center][h1]The Weatherman[/h1][/center][/color][/i][/u][/b]


[i]That fucking bitch. How was she not dead! He torched that place, burned it down to the ground, he heard the screams! Oh, how he wanted to snap her neck and tear her eyes out. But this time...[/i]

He pulled the bolt back on his Ruger M77 bolt-action sniper rifle, loading the .270 cartridge into the chamber.

[i]He had to make some head wounds. He wanted that bitch dead. He wanted that bitch dead. No one lives. No one lives. No one lives. No one lives. No one lives. NO ONE LIVES. NO ONE LIVES. NO ONE LIVES.[/i]

How his fingers trembled with bloody eagerness, with violent trepidation, with murderous joy. This blonde DJ was attending a party tonight, right in the middle of town hall. All these windows so many targets. 

[i]SO MANY PEOPLE TO KILL BUT HE COULDN'T CHOOSE WHICH ONE. HE LOVES THE GUESSING GAME.[/i]

The clock was approaching midnight, and he could see her through the blackened scope of his sniper rifle. That blonde hair, that pale skin, the way she carried herself with a sort of mix of fear and boldness.

He flicked the safety off his weapon.

It wasn't raining. 

But for Nori Haywood, he would make an exception. 

[i]You little runt. Time to die. Time to die. Time to die. Time to die. I'm going to POP YOUR NECK OPEN AND SUCK THE BONE MARROW FROM YOUR SKULL![/i]

The night was cool. It was a new year. A new victim. A new era of death and violence and killing.

It was so beautiful, how the cross hairs lined up so perfectly with her neck. That pale, beautiful neck. But how was he supposed to snap her neck...

IF SHE DIDN'T HAVE ONE.

[i]I'M GONNA MAKE YOU BLEED OUT IN FRONT OF THE ONES YOU LOVE. HEAR THEIR GORE, SMELL THEIR SCREAMS, SLICE THE MEAT FROM THEIR EYES AND MAKE THEM WATCH THE END. Die. Die. Die. DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE![/i]

A gloved finger on the trigger, a quick jerk, a flash from a smoking barrel, the boom ringing out into the night like a shriek of death. 

[i]HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA![/i]

He pulled back the bolt, the a wisp of smoke emitting from the tip of the tip of the shell, the smell of gunpowder in the crisp winter air.

"Happy New Year, You CUNT. ENJOY THE FUNERAL!"

He slung the rifle over his shoulders, turned.

Gone.