Far From Home; Not Just by Geography
Vision 1
Vision 1: An Introduction to The Current Life of Matt Shadows
Matt stood up slowly and looked at the family he had, for lack of a better term, just massacred.
His normal intention was to kill the man first, then the woman. It was always easier that way, he was taught. This time, though, the man was in the shower right when Matt jumped in the window. To avoid having the wife scream and alerting anyone of his entry, he put his hand over her mouth and silently slit her throat. There was no way to sugarcoat the words in any manner. It was a simple deed he had done, and it ended yet another life. Blood had spurted from her jugular onto the wall, and in the meantime of waiting Matt studied it to see if there was a pattern. Once he saw that there was none, he retreated by the bathroom door and cleaned his knife.
Five minutes later, the man of the house opened the door to his bedroom and saw his wife slumped down against the bed where Matt had left her. He rushed over to her, whispering in a language Matt didn't know, and kneeled by her side to see the wide-open eyes. Matt struck him once in the head, knocking him unconcious, and then proceeded to stab him in the heart to quickly finish it.
Two young sons were sprawled out in living room, staining their beige carpeting scarlet red. He had confronted them in their joint bedroom and tried to end them quickly, even though they had put up a good struggle. In the end, he had stabbed the smaller one in the back, puncturing his lung. His enraged brother rushed his sibling's killer, and Matt pushed the blade out in front of him, partially to protect himself, partially because he knew what damage would be done. The boy whispered a couple words in French, then fell over to accept his impending demise.
"Why won't the Earth just stop turning? Then the morning will never come again and I won't have to kill anyone else." Matt spoke quietly. "I'm sorry. I'm not fighting my war. I wish I weren't even here."
Matt remembered his training. The things that had been pounded into his head for seeming eternity until he finally left that place to accomplish everything his country wanted. He knew these feelings weren't normal, the brainwashing shouldn't have broken, it just wasn't right. Nothing he knew was right anymore.
With a bloodstained hand, Matt reached around his neck for a black crucifix. It was the only thing they had allowed him to keep during the 'training,' and it stayed on him even though the belief was pretty much gone from him.
"Give me courage. I don't think I'm able to make it. Let me keep going, so I can get out of this hellhole and back to my friends."
Getting rid of any fingerprints or other evidence that would give away who the murderer was, Matt turned on the lamp so it would seem like somebody was awake. A cover for his getaway, if he was seen leaving the house the neighbors would only think that he was a visitor there.
Locking the door before he left, he walked down the sidewalk to the place where his motorcycle was parked. It wasn't a Harley, that's for sure, but it got the whole 'transportation' thing done. He started it as quietly as he could and drove off toward his apartment, provided by his country under the fake alibi of a construction company. There he took a couple of pills, one for sleep and the other as an antidepressant. Eventually he fell into a rather peaceful sleep, filled with images of his friends from California. He really did miss them, but there was no pill to help him with homesickness.
So he'd just have to manage on his own.
Matt stood up slowly and looked at the family he had, for lack of a better term, just massacred.
His normal intention was to kill the man first, then the woman. It was always easier that way, he was taught. This time, though, the man was in the shower right when Matt jumped in the window. To avoid having the wife scream and alerting anyone of his entry, he put his hand over her mouth and silently slit her throat. There was no way to sugarcoat the words in any manner. It was a simple deed he had done, and it ended yet another life. Blood had spurted from her jugular onto the wall, and in the meantime of waiting Matt studied it to see if there was a pattern. Once he saw that there was none, he retreated by the bathroom door and cleaned his knife.
Five minutes later, the man of the house opened the door to his bedroom and saw his wife slumped down against the bed where Matt had left her. He rushed over to her, whispering in a language Matt didn't know, and kneeled by her side to see the wide-open eyes. Matt struck him once in the head, knocking him unconcious, and then proceeded to stab him in the heart to quickly finish it.
Two young sons were sprawled out in living room, staining their beige carpeting scarlet red. He had confronted them in their joint bedroom and tried to end them quickly, even though they had put up a good struggle. In the end, he had stabbed the smaller one in the back, puncturing his lung. His enraged brother rushed his sibling's killer, and Matt pushed the blade out in front of him, partially to protect himself, partially because he knew what damage would be done. The boy whispered a couple words in French, then fell over to accept his impending demise.
"Why won't the Earth just stop turning? Then the morning will never come again and I won't have to kill anyone else." Matt spoke quietly. "I'm sorry. I'm not fighting my war. I wish I weren't even here."
Matt remembered his training. The things that had been pounded into his head for seeming eternity until he finally left that place to accomplish everything his country wanted. He knew these feelings weren't normal, the brainwashing shouldn't have broken, it just wasn't right. Nothing he knew was right anymore.
With a bloodstained hand, Matt reached around his neck for a black crucifix. It was the only thing they had allowed him to keep during the 'training,' and it stayed on him even though the belief was pretty much gone from him.
"Give me courage. I don't think I'm able to make it. Let me keep going, so I can get out of this hellhole and back to my friends."
Getting rid of any fingerprints or other evidence that would give away who the murderer was, Matt turned on the lamp so it would seem like somebody was awake. A cover for his getaway, if he was seen leaving the house the neighbors would only think that he was a visitor there.
Locking the door before he left, he walked down the sidewalk to the place where his motorcycle was parked. It wasn't a Harley, that's for sure, but it got the whole 'transportation' thing done. He started it as quietly as he could and drove off toward his apartment, provided by his country under the fake alibi of a construction company. There he took a couple of pills, one for sleep and the other as an antidepressant. Eventually he fell into a rather peaceful sleep, filled with images of his friends from California. He really did miss them, but there was no pill to help him with homesickness.
So he'd just have to manage on his own.