An Old Face Is Resurrected- George
A drunken, hooded man stumbled down the dingy street at 02.00. A slight breeze knocked him over into a large sack of rubbish which lay in the side of the alleyway which he had now turned into. The light of the far-off moon illuminated one half of his face whilst the other lay in a complete obis of blackness. The man's name was George Williams.
Recently, he had been introducing himself by the false name of Ray merely for the purpose that he didn't want anyone to associate him with the true, corrupt, blackened and evil man he truly was.
As a child, he had been beaten, abused and forced to labour in the suburbs of his small town on the outskirts of New York. Her mother was driven completely by drink and lived for the taste of Alcohol which, after time, she had learnt to depend upon; it was drink that killed her when George was just twelve and, since that moment, George had sworn to control his own life and the goings on inside it; he was the puppet master and this was the show as far as he was concerned.
He continued to wonder aimlessly through the shadowy streets and eventually decided to rest on a park bench. The park itself was slightly more open and was encircled by a tall, and old row of trees with the odd lamppost giving out slight, dim rays of light.
It was Bree Van de Kamp that he though of, concentrated on and lusted after as he took another violent wing from his bottle. It was Bree Van De Kamp that he remembered as the woman who he thought loved him and it was Bree Van de Kamp that he now swore to kill with himself. It had been about two months since George Williams had, supposedly, died of an overdose of medication and, as George knew very well, Bree had let him die.
"I will have my retribution. Bree loves me. We will die together." These are the words found written in George Williams' diary.
Chapter Two
Bree Van de Kamp lay sweltering in her garden taking very formal sips from her third bottle of Chardonnay- the time was three o'clock in the morning.
Bree sighed heavily before spotting that the bouquet of flowers, which she kept in the perfect centre of her garden table, seemed to be at the incorrect angle so she readjusted them. Bree then sat down and began to sob quietly.
The last year had been one of horrific turmoil, upheaval and constant pain for Bree Van de Kamp. Her marriage had collapsed with her husband, Rex, who subsequently died of poisoning and then, 'forgave,' his wife for his death, she had been involved in a constant battle with her son, Andrew and her daughter appeared to have lost all respect in her mother and was having a relationship with a boy who's mother was harboring a murderer. Bree, following Rex's death, began to date a psychopathic chemist who pushed Bree's one person who she could completely rely on, her psychiatrist, off of a bridge and who also killed said husband. Her daughter then involved herself in murder and her son was roaming the bleak and barren highways after he had been dropped off by his mother.
Bree coughed slightly and dried her tears neatly with a rose napkin and stroked the body of hair which was swaying in the breeze slightly behind her.
What Bree was not aware of, was that, in just 24 hours time, she would be looking into the face of death.