Status: New chapter in progress 4/6/14
Before You
One Shot
My first official kill. I’ve killed before of course, and I bet he never thought a fourteen year old boy would be the one to end him. Seven years ago I lived in a nice home, ate well every night and had a close relationship with my mother. My father was always caught up in work, always spending hours in his study. My older brother Jacoby took over the role of my father, teaching me how to fish, taking me out back through the woods that made up our backyard to practice hunting. We’d spend hours after school trying to shoot cans off a stump with a little pellet gun.
I remembered the day it happened so clearly, as if it were burned into my memory. My father seemed pale and jumpy, like he was waiting for a piano to drop out of the sky and crush him. I tried to keep far from my father’s business. I never asked him questions, I never knew what he did for a living. It was a surprise to me when strangers broke our door down, shot out our windows and murdered my father in front of us in cold blood. My mother ran into another room, Jacoby grabbed my small hands in his and pulled me after him. In the kitchen under a rug is a trapped door leading into the basement.
Jacoby opened it quickly, shoving me down into the dark. He told me, “No matter what happens, stay quiet. Don’t come out til you know the coast is clear, got it? No matter what you hear, you swear?”
I stared at him like a deer in headlights and watched as he pulled the door closed again, and covered it back up. From below, only small streams of light were allowed to escaped between the spaces of the floorboards. I couldn’t see anything but I could hear shouting from an unfamiliar source. I put my hands over my ears, trying to drown them out but not even that could keep out the sounds of my mother’s screaming and the deafening silence that followed the single gunshot. I almost screamed myself when I saw her blood slowly dripping down from the ceiling above me. I threw my hands over my mouth to suppress my own sobs that were now coming out uncontrollably and listened as they asked my brother if there was anyone else in the house. The last thing I heard were footsteps, Jacoby kicking and trying to fight them off. They headed toward the front door of the house til I could no longer hear them. I stayed where I was for what seemed like hours when I dared to venture back up to the kitchen, another gunshot from outside caused me to freeze. It dawned on me that that shot was meant for the last remaining family member I had. In only a matter of minutes I became a thirteen year old orphan. I was alone.
For an entire year, I spent my life devoted to finding out more about my father, his work, colleagues, his secret life. I mostly came up with nothing. Any evidence of my father’s business remained a tightly kept secret. I fled the scene of my home, the police never knew I was there. They never got a chance to ask me questions and from my understanding, the investigation turned up a dead end. They were also looking for me, guessing my families murderers kidnapped me, or dumped my body elsewhere. I kept a low profile, stealing whatever I could, sleeping with the homeless and using the public library computers to do my own research. Eventually, I connected a string of killings related to a single person. That person was the lead suspect in my parents murder with a list of possible accomplices. They’d been baled from prison two years prior with a new set of crimes added to their record. I wrote down their names, I started asking questions. Most nights I found myself in the shadiest parts of town, near the suburban district. They have cruddy motels, sleezy bars and a high crime rate. It’s here that I finally had a lead on where to find this man. Long story short, the hotel maid who cleans in the afternoon probably had to go to therapy after opening the door to room 316. Of course the police had found him, asked questions, took him into custody, but they had nothing to pin him. He ended up getting released every time.
I think I surprised myself that I could kill another human being. Honestly, I didn’t know if I had it in me. While I hid away in the shower of his bathroom, sweat dripping down my face, it took everything in me not to drop the gun from shaking. Before that point in time, I had spent hours after school practicing how to shoot my fathers gun, which I snatched before running away from the grave I once called a home. My brother taught me how to pick a lock, which came in handy on more than one occasion.
After his brains decorated the grimy white walls, I wasn’t satisfied. I still felt that he got off way too easy. How was he suppose to pay for the entire year I spent hurting from the loss of my family? I defiled his body before I escaped out the hotel window, smearing his guts on the bed, shoving what was left of his head in the toilet. I still had a long way to go before I felt my vengeance had been fulfilled. However, It was a victory for myself, having taken down one of the many involved in my family’s demise. It would be another year before the man known as Christov would give me the opportunity that would turn me into the lethal weapon I am today.
After successfully becoming a Hit Man under Christov’s organization, I was sent on weekly missions, which was a nice change from the rigorous training I endured just about every day. I almost forgot what the sun felt like, being trapped indoors for twelve months. Our missions always involved a group and there was almost always killing. One particular mission had undone months of training.
We had just committed another murder and were fleeing the scene. I turned a seemingly abandoned alleyway when two young boys looked up from behind a large green dumpster. They immediately froze seeing the blood on my hands. A member of my group came up behind me and turned to run down the adjacent block.
“Shoot them, they’ll rat you out first chance they get,” He called out, but I stood frozen. I’ve killed children before, without mercy, without thinking twice. But these two boys reminded me too much of my brother and I. Dark black hair, fair skin, green eyes. We just stared at each other, the three of us unmoving. A gunshot causes me to flinch and I can see one of the boys now in a heap on the asphalt.
“I said kill them and lets move!” The man who shouted at me earlier came back to finish the job. He raised his weapon and ended the other boy as he tried to run away. I don't even remember if he screamed. After this night, I’d spend weeks at a time in Room 55. They only allowed me to leave to use the bathroom four times a day and I was only allowed to eat twice. They tried to force the weakness out of me once again.
It was this incident that brings me to hesitation. The reason why I feel I can’t kill this man whom is a father to this girl. The wind picked up and I took another drag of my cigarette. My breaths were coming out in a fog and the little girl still hasn’t moved. I wait a moment longer before the father hands her paper back and mumbles something to her. Finally she retreats back to her room. I reposition myself, and refocus my aim. This time, I don’t even blink before I pull the trigger, sending the bullet flying through glass and into the mans skull. It was a silent kill. The glass only webbed a little, staying completely intact. The man who’s name was Dan now slumps lifeless in his red upholstered armchair. I flick the butt of the cigarette I’ve been pulling on and start to tear down my sniper tripod. I load it onto my back through strap slung around my shoulder and mid section and pull out a piece of paper from the inside pocket of my jacket. A woman’s scream fills the air as she discovers her husband dead in the living room. I cross off another name.
I remembered the day it happened so clearly, as if it were burned into my memory. My father seemed pale and jumpy, like he was waiting for a piano to drop out of the sky and crush him. I tried to keep far from my father’s business. I never asked him questions, I never knew what he did for a living. It was a surprise to me when strangers broke our door down, shot out our windows and murdered my father in front of us in cold blood. My mother ran into another room, Jacoby grabbed my small hands in his and pulled me after him. In the kitchen under a rug is a trapped door leading into the basement.
Jacoby opened it quickly, shoving me down into the dark. He told me, “No matter what happens, stay quiet. Don’t come out til you know the coast is clear, got it? No matter what you hear, you swear?”
I stared at him like a deer in headlights and watched as he pulled the door closed again, and covered it back up. From below, only small streams of light were allowed to escaped between the spaces of the floorboards. I couldn’t see anything but I could hear shouting from an unfamiliar source. I put my hands over my ears, trying to drown them out but not even that could keep out the sounds of my mother’s screaming and the deafening silence that followed the single gunshot. I almost screamed myself when I saw her blood slowly dripping down from the ceiling above me. I threw my hands over my mouth to suppress my own sobs that were now coming out uncontrollably and listened as they asked my brother if there was anyone else in the house. The last thing I heard were footsteps, Jacoby kicking and trying to fight them off. They headed toward the front door of the house til I could no longer hear them. I stayed where I was for what seemed like hours when I dared to venture back up to the kitchen, another gunshot from outside caused me to freeze. It dawned on me that that shot was meant for the last remaining family member I had. In only a matter of minutes I became a thirteen year old orphan. I was alone.
For an entire year, I spent my life devoted to finding out more about my father, his work, colleagues, his secret life. I mostly came up with nothing. Any evidence of my father’s business remained a tightly kept secret. I fled the scene of my home, the police never knew I was there. They never got a chance to ask me questions and from my understanding, the investigation turned up a dead end. They were also looking for me, guessing my families murderers kidnapped me, or dumped my body elsewhere. I kept a low profile, stealing whatever I could, sleeping with the homeless and using the public library computers to do my own research. Eventually, I connected a string of killings related to a single person. That person was the lead suspect in my parents murder with a list of possible accomplices. They’d been baled from prison two years prior with a new set of crimes added to their record. I wrote down their names, I started asking questions. Most nights I found myself in the shadiest parts of town, near the suburban district. They have cruddy motels, sleezy bars and a high crime rate. It’s here that I finally had a lead on where to find this man. Long story short, the hotel maid who cleans in the afternoon probably had to go to therapy after opening the door to room 316. Of course the police had found him, asked questions, took him into custody, but they had nothing to pin him. He ended up getting released every time.
I think I surprised myself that I could kill another human being. Honestly, I didn’t know if I had it in me. While I hid away in the shower of his bathroom, sweat dripping down my face, it took everything in me not to drop the gun from shaking. Before that point in time, I had spent hours after school practicing how to shoot my fathers gun, which I snatched before running away from the grave I once called a home. My brother taught me how to pick a lock, which came in handy on more than one occasion.
After his brains decorated the grimy white walls, I wasn’t satisfied. I still felt that he got off way too easy. How was he suppose to pay for the entire year I spent hurting from the loss of my family? I defiled his body before I escaped out the hotel window, smearing his guts on the bed, shoving what was left of his head in the toilet. I still had a long way to go before I felt my vengeance had been fulfilled. However, It was a victory for myself, having taken down one of the many involved in my family’s demise. It would be another year before the man known as Christov would give me the opportunity that would turn me into the lethal weapon I am today.
After successfully becoming a Hit Man under Christov’s organization, I was sent on weekly missions, which was a nice change from the rigorous training I endured just about every day. I almost forgot what the sun felt like, being trapped indoors for twelve months. Our missions always involved a group and there was almost always killing. One particular mission had undone months of training.
We had just committed another murder and were fleeing the scene. I turned a seemingly abandoned alleyway when two young boys looked up from behind a large green dumpster. They immediately froze seeing the blood on my hands. A member of my group came up behind me and turned to run down the adjacent block.
“Shoot them, they’ll rat you out first chance they get,” He called out, but I stood frozen. I’ve killed children before, without mercy, without thinking twice. But these two boys reminded me too much of my brother and I. Dark black hair, fair skin, green eyes. We just stared at each other, the three of us unmoving. A gunshot causes me to flinch and I can see one of the boys now in a heap on the asphalt.
“I said kill them and lets move!” The man who shouted at me earlier came back to finish the job. He raised his weapon and ended the other boy as he tried to run away. I don't even remember if he screamed. After this night, I’d spend weeks at a time in Room 55. They only allowed me to leave to use the bathroom four times a day and I was only allowed to eat twice. They tried to force the weakness out of me once again.
It was this incident that brings me to hesitation. The reason why I feel I can’t kill this man whom is a father to this girl. The wind picked up and I took another drag of my cigarette. My breaths were coming out in a fog and the little girl still hasn’t moved. I wait a moment longer before the father hands her paper back and mumbles something to her. Finally she retreats back to her room. I reposition myself, and refocus my aim. This time, I don’t even blink before I pull the trigger, sending the bullet flying through glass and into the mans skull. It was a silent kill. The glass only webbed a little, staying completely intact. The man who’s name was Dan now slumps lifeless in his red upholstered armchair. I flick the butt of the cigarette I’ve been pulling on and start to tear down my sniper tripod. I load it onto my back through strap slung around my shoulder and mid section and pull out a piece of paper from the inside pocket of my jacket. A woman’s scream fills the air as she discovers her husband dead in the living room. I cross off another name.