Anderson Island, Washington State,
14th April,
Tonight Benjamin Hansen was going to be murdered and he was aware of it.
That evening at half past four, Benjamin Hansen had come home in his long rubber gum – boots, since he was a part of construction process of a government skyscraper being carried on eastern side of Anderson Island. Soon the place was going to have a skyscraper and within three decades it was going to be new Detroit. But Hansen wouldn’t survive to see the day in which it would happen. Hansen had skipped his lunch and later he had wished it would have been better if he had skipped his working hour, where he had been holding long plastic pipe and filling concrete inside steel structures, instead. Anybody would have assumed he had straight come from roadwork for he had a jackhammer in his hand and white spotted black boots.
Repair it. He was ordered for jackhammer but he was going to be murdered tonight. He is coming home to kill me. I must show some hospitality, he thought.
He'd taken a cab from Eckenstam Johnson Road, had paid complete three dollars to the Afro American cabbie and walked inside his house with his heavy footsteps like his boot was filled with concrete mixture with pebbles. He was offered a drink from an old balding man whom he knew as Rick Tarot after he was seen but Hansen denied the offer. He kept on watching that man of seventies sit on balcony and unfold his Washington Post daily paper. Beside the glass of wine was pile of war magazines from his time.
It was quiet strange, instead of combination of coffee with morning and newspaper; he enjoyed hard drink in evening with newspaper.
PARANORMAL EVENTS DETECTED ALL OVER WASHINGTON.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
…………… Prank or Fact? ................
A LOOKOVER AT THE HISTORY OF BERLIN WALL AND GERMANY.
Hansen walked up to the door, climbing the steps with the heavy jackhammer, wondering how come he made it up to there.
"Is your house on fire Mr. Firefighter?"A skinny blond teen (who had been selected for Washington Basketball Under Twenty League but soon was dropped out due to doping rule violation) mocked but the middle aged man just stared at the street lamp in the sky and some pine trees. He looked at the crowded end of street and muttered, "Tomorrow, my body shall pass from here inside a coffin."
He unlocked the door. Hansen stepped in like he always did with ease.
He removed his yellow helmet off his head and let it fall. He knew that after some hours his murderer was coming home. The murderer had called him earlier in the morning and had said he'll be there by 10.
Hansen showered for fifteen minutes to be exact and didn’t use his Men's Spice to shave like he always used to do after shower.
Preceding it, he made his way to the kitchen, selected out some cans of beans from the refrigerator and wondered what if the murderer would like to have mutton or pork instead.
Almost at half – past eight, he prepared dinner which consisted of omelet, beans gravy and fresh pork. For the appetizer of murderer and himself he had prepared black coffee.
At nine, the murderer was on his doorsteps and rang the doorbell. Hansen was falling asleep with his head on dining table when the noise awakened him. It was not how he intended to sleep for the last time. There were no dreams and nothing memorable. He missed the smell of his blanket, softness of his pillow and the sensation of stretching his limbs.
Then he went downstairs to unlocked the door.
"Prophet Marcello, I was looking for you. How come you're…err...early?" Hansen questioned his murderer.