It was a dark, eerie night in the heart of Dublin where the sniper lay lonesome as he confidently watches over the roads. The streets were brimming with blood and corpses were mutilated and stacked on top of one another (Imagery). His rifle was hung perfectly to the right of him. Since the the barbarous assassin was not expecting any action, he conscientiously opened up a pack of cigarettes to help him relax. His cigarette was the only light that was visible in the dreary night sky that draped over him like a heavy wool blanket (Simile). After enjoying his last a cigarette for the night, he surveilled the street below. He had a small smirk on his lips as he gazed over the lifeless bodies below. Minutes after the sniper fell asleep, he
