Crimson threads scattered the rickety floor of Hamish's boat house. It was almost as if Hamish hurled at the thought of his ornaments being hunted down. He couldn't be bothered to fix the sloping shelves (which gave the solidified substances away).
Above the badly - stitched, bottle green armchair, the taxi yellow cars were kept in bulletproof cabinets. With the cobwebs containing them, they leapt as close to the wall as possible, leaning away from the arms of Hamish.
Claws of antlers from deer on the wall shouted off their hatred with a vengeance. As hard as they tried not to be, they were the best form of decoration in his home.
His stench was easy to repel from, so the time of ornament inspection would have to be a time of desperate need.
Deluded looking crows coated the fakery of the flat walls. They even had expressions, which caused them to appear in a way that conveyed the idea of using a plan to push away their owner. 'Too late now'. Their days had been collectively cut short like they were trying to give Hamish a disease. Really, he was the horror.
He still is the horror.
CZYTASZ
Swiss Army Kiss
HorrorDon't be fooled by the keen and calming attitude of Hamish in the wreckage of rooms. All that ever really occupied his time was dragging in women for their deep, convincing kiss. In his mouth, Hamish always held a grubby, sharp pocket knife. He rem...
