UNPREMEDITATED A Black Comedy Essay Research Paper

UNPREMEDITATED (A Black Comedy) Essay, Research Paper

The shadowy figure cautiously crept from crevice to crevice of the large, silent garden, scanning the vast old-fashioned house for an easy entrance. A thick, black pipe climbed the moonlit, magnolia wall. Light escaped into the garden through the first floor windows and was transformed into a scattering of pale patches on the lawn by a tall mass of winter-attacked shrubbery. Next to the pipe was a window, left co-incidentally open.

The figure darted towards the pipe, trying to keep as low as possible, and stood straight back against the wall. The silence was intimidating. His second ever job; well his first proper job.

‘No muff-ups this time!´ he repeated over and over in his head. He began to climb the vertical obstacle. Hesitating, he checked his belt for the weighty gun.

‘No muff-ups this time!´

He slowly hauled his tall, heavy, body up the side of the ever-continuing wall. On reaching the window, he stretched out. Then, his heart leapt into his mouth as he plummeted about four feet down the chunky metal pipe. The rainwater on the pipe had caused him to slip. He climbed the pipe and reached for the window again. Sliding himself across he looked down at the ground about twenty-five feet below. He drew in a breath and quickly threw himself through the open window.

On dismounting from the windowsill the man realised that his trouser leg had somehow become attached to the shiny metal handle. He needed great force to pull himself away. Taking hold of the curtain rail he pulled his leg away from the window. In the same action he tore a large strip out of his trouser leg and pulled the curtain rail, which had been supporting his weight, off the wall. He fell to the floor with his finger jammed tight between the curtain rail and one of the curtain rings. He screwed up his face in agony and drew in a long breath.

“S**T!!!”

Pacing across the bedroom floor he pressed his hand against the gun-handle. His heart accelerated to a record breaking pace. He briefly removed the itchy, black balaclava and replaced, with one swipe of his hand, the tiny beads of perspiration, which had accumulated on his forehead, with the moisture of the rainwater on his gloves, which he had acquired when climbing the pipe. He replaced the balaclava and stood straight back against the wall, practising his stance. It was the stance that a poor amateur dramatics society member might use when impersonating ‘James Bond´.

Trailing down two flights of stairs, he came to a halt in the large hallway on hearing the monotonous, single-toned ‘mm hmm´ of a woman on the receiving end of a one-sided telephone conversation. He saw some photographs on the wall. How could he destroy such a happy family.

Unconscious of the man standing behind her with outstretched, trembling hands, tightly gripping a gun, Maria Deaton placed the phone down gently, retaining the thought of the amusing conversation with her hairdresser-come-best friend, with a smile. She turned the volume back up on the television.

“ Awright, listen up you. Keep still and this´ll be quick and simple.” He wasn´t supposed to talk to her but had to see her face before he pulled the trigger.

The voice had boomed from behind. Confused that the words, which she at first thought had come from the surround sound speaker behind her, did not match those mouthed by the Arch Bishop on ‘Songs of Praise´, Maria spun around. Her jaw dropped and her throat dried. Now, facing the tall man with the gun tightly gripped in his hands and pointed at her, her body tensed. Her head full of questions, she looked at the gun in his quivering hands.

“No! Please!” she cried. The pleading didn´t help her. He came closer and held the gun to her head. Closing his eyes he pulled the trigger tightly.

Nothing.

“I, uh, think you´ve gotta load it first.” Maria was shocked at the unexpected words, which had just escaped her lips, “not very experienced are you.”

Well he wasn´t. His gun wasn´t even fitted with a silencer

The hit man´s arm fell to his side. Collapsing in a chair destroyed, he broke out into a fountain of tears, blubbering and murmuring things like ‘I´m so ridiculous!´ and ‘I´m just a bloody failure´.

“There, there,” Maria found herself saying. “Maybe you just weren´t meant to be a murderer.”

She stopped suddenly. Why. Why was he here. Her eyes darted from the unstable, blubbering wreck to the picture of her ex-husband.

“He, he sent you didn´t he. Well he´s not getting the money or the children. I didn´t think he´d stoop low enough to try to pull this off!”

“Where are the little ones now. I saw the photos in the hall.”

“They´re at my mum´s.”

She glanced back at the broken man who by this time had stopped crying and sat quivering, shaking his head and glaring at the gun, which lay upon the table.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I´m sorry.”

Pause.

“Would you like a cup of tea. Coffee.”

“Uh I could do with a cold drink.”

Maria searched in the cupboards.

“There´s some old fashioned lemonade, I don´t know how long it´s bee

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