Drawn Blades

Chapter 1

Blood splatters over the walls, blood-curdling screams fill my ears. The blade in my hand is long and heavy, making each slash hurt my wrist ever so slightly. Though definitely not nearly as much as it hurts the woman in front of me. But her pain will be far more temporary than mine. Unless of course you're forced to eternally suffer through the last thing you felt for the rest of your afterlife, then I certainly feel bad for her. But hey, business is business, and I can't risk getting my first ever bad grade.

Stepping towards her, I manage a serious expression and hold the blade intimidatingly in my hand. Her golden eyes show only fear, and her entire body is covered in tears, snot, and blood. Some of the blood is my own, but not like it matters, they'll never find the body.

"No please, no!" The woman cries out, her voice high-pitched and almost motherly. Though I know she doesn't have any kids, I would've refused to do this job if she did.

As I raise the long blade up into the sky for a final swipe, a loud, headache inducing banging erupts from outside of the door. The voices outside are frantic and rushed, like they're going to be late for something.

"Timber!" An old, masculine voice shouts. "Wake up, we need to get going!"

"Oh," I pout, dropping the blade to the ground and glaring at the woman in front of me. Her expression of terror is unrelenting. "I'm asleep." Slowly, I raise my left arm up in front of me, time starts moving sluggishly as I reach with my other arm. My fingers plant into my skin like a venomous snake going in for the kill, the pinch into my meat is all but enjoyable.

I jolt awake in my bed, the old, rotted, and stained leather surrounding me raises a vomit-inducing stench into my nostrils. I would have them cleaned, but it'd take far too much work, and getting some new leather would cost way too much money. The banging on my door continues and I rush with putting my gear on. My head already hurts as I put my long, dark brown hair into a high ponytail.

"Timber!" The old voice continues to yell and I reach for my brown headband, tightening it around my forehead.

"Just a second!" I finally respond, reaching for my baggy, tactical jacket, and bullet-proof vest. They're both brown, just like probably all of the clothes I have. Glancing frantically around my room, I catch sight of my baggy tactical pants, most of the pockets already filled with supplies.

The banging finally stops for a bit as I pull on my pants and grab my skull gas mask and combat gloves. Throwing them in my backpack and tossing it over my shoulder as I head out of the door. Though it's barely much of a door, it's only connected to one out of three of its hinges. It's honestly amazing that no one saw me getting dressed through all of the cracks in this old, torn shack. The looks on everyone's faces don't look pleased with me at all, but more of 'What took you so long?' and 'Hurry the fuck up.'

The old man is already in an old, brown carriage with the old nag that I know all too well already looking exhausted at the front of it. Running forward, I jump up and take a seat next to the old man. Two younger men taking seats in the back, both looking at me with a hint of fear, one being slightly flustered.

I guess they did see me getting dressed. Whatever, wouldn't be the first time.

"Why did it take you so long to wake up?" The old man asks me, his voice raspy and tired.

"I was up late last night helping Mrs. Runsin with her children and helping around the house," I respond, knowing that mentioning her will definitely make him calm down a bit.

He takes a breath, focusing on the old dirt road as the poor nag slowly pulls us, "Alright then, just try to be more responsible with your own schedule too, alright?"