Page 173 - Diocesan Boys' School-MINI STEPS 2019

Raymond Ho (5X)

The Night of the Murder

My name is James Bond. I am 52, a professional agent for M16 and CIA. Today, I will tell
you what happened the night Sarah Johnson died.
That night was rainy. I stepped into a fine dining restaurant to calm my hungry stomach. I
had just tucked into a Neapolitan spaghetti with a crispy fresh garden salad when an awkward
silence settled onto the restaurant. I quietly looked up and saw horrible something. A girl
had suddenly collapsed across a couch, a red slit across her throat which glinted in the harsh
fluorescent light. Her friend was crying her name hoarsely and shaking her, hoping that she was
alive, that she wouldn’t be dead, that she would get well. The smell was terrible too. It smelled
of blood, digested food and saliva. And that was when I saw him the murderer. He had a grin
as unforgiving as a snake’s. He was grasping a knife soaked in blood, probably wondering who
to kill next. Then I heard a sharp, high-pitched scream coming from the waitress as she fainted
from the oozing blood.
I will never forget that wicked grin, that diabolical laugh. Never. I rest my case.

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