Blowhard

I scrambled onto the roof, the wind and hail hammering into me.

He appeared like a jack-in-the-box from the hatch.

“Here Piggy…” he shouted, diving at my legs.

I tried to grab anything, but while several panels of the roof were flapping in the wind, I couldn’t find anything useful.

A hand grabbed my throat, the other using the gun as a club.

As I began to black out, my eyes rolled up and I saw a skylight, held by one nail.

Before I could think of anything resembling a plan, it came loose and messily took off his head.