Why Do People Kill Unicorns?

TWO

My hands didn't tremble. They were firm. My mind however was stiff. My moves were deadly. My thoughts were desperately trying hard to stop thinking about killing unicorns this particular second. I knew in my heart how retarded that was, especially because I fucking hated unicorns and it wasn't nearly as important as the bloodied intruder laying and groaning on the ground. Triumphantly, I edged closer, frypan still in my hand, angled slightly against my head. I was a panda ready to pounce.

The intruder's grumbling continued, his jet black hair rested messily upon his head. Just as I was about to speak, a hurdle of elephants sounded outside the kitchen door. I wanted to take a closer look, but was prevented as my wrist had suddenly been grabbed.

"Shit," the man
It was simply unusual and I refused to be dragged into this mess, I directed him to the easiest way out. Not bothering to be confused as to why or whom he was running from, because it was not curiosity who killed the cat, it was plain stupidness that had stabbed and ribbed the cat's heart right from it's chest.

When we reached the large grey door several minutes later, he had let go of my wrist and placed his hand onto the metallic handle. His arms buff and tanned as he bursted the door open within milliseconds.

I silently prayed that I was no longer involved in the plate full of weights that the intruder had gotten himself into. But maybe I had spoken too soon. This human, AKA thing, would definitely need to be assassinated later on. In my mind of course. The place where all things die on my