135
Here is some writing i have been doing:
The store clerk stood shocked as the horrifyingly deformed man entered the store. His most terrifyingly obvious feature was the discolored, ugly mass of skin and bone on the top of his head. His deep, knowledgeable eyes sunk far into his head, and his forehead rose out above his eyes, giving him a sharp, defiant aspect. His small, pastel lips curled into a tight grin, causing his dimples to sink in. He had acne scars all over his face, giving him a menacing, maniacal guise. His nose was flat, from being smashed countless times, and the skin surrounding it was swelled, giving it the effect of a crater. The bulge on his head wasn't the only deformed feature of his, the areas below his ears also rose out. His thick, but torn leather overcoat scarcely sheltered his hulking body. Every part of his physique was bulky, thick, and muscular, from his fingers to his neck, and his legs were as thick as tree trunks. The ground practically quaked below him.
He simply felt no emotion, not thinking or lingering over the people he battered or murdered in his master plans. Yet, he still allowed himself to experience delight while performing these tasks, smiling and occasionally emitting bits of distorted laughter. He happened to be very thoughtful, spending days, and even weeks, planning out his robberies. Most who knew him simply identified him as evil.
The man knew exactly what he needed to do as he entered the store. He had planned everything he needed to do for the past two weeks. â Ich bin hier, um dich zu töten alten Mannes,â he said, or, â I am here to kill you old man,â as he pulled an MP 40 out from under his overcoat. The firearmâ s sights found themselves directly aligned with the elderly manâ s forehead as he instructed him to put his hands upward.
The store clerk shuddered and felt terror grasp his heart as his shaky arms and legs convulsed with sheer panic. His face turned a shade of pale so white; his own dead mother wouldn't have recognized him. Under no circumstances had he witnessed such a horrid man, and never had such a man threatened him as so. His hands slid up unsteadily.
The callous man put a hood over his own head and waited until the precise moment he would make his action. He heard the footsteps echoing on the sun bleached sidewalk outside and waited, and the tension grew as they slowly thumped louder and louder. He had then realized the time was right and bellowed, â Heâ s got a gun!â in German at the uppermost of his lungs. He pitched the gun forward and the clerk had naught to do but catch it. The policeman, patrolling outside, heard the call and rushed into the shop, pulling out his shiny, new revolver. The clerk, who was now holding the MP 40, dropped it in shock and put his hands up screaming, â It wasn't me!â as the police man thrust him against the back wall of his small gift shop. Seldom did the policeman identify, the true criminal had pickpocketed the keys from him and was now headed out of the city in the police manâ s own 1966 Oldsmobile Toronadoâ ¦
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