Alexis

Fecondazione

Fertilization

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"The word of the LORD came again unto me, saying,"

Ezekiel (25:1)

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My body jumped in response. I looked over, confused about what got on me. Whatever it was was wet. There was a lot of yelling and harsh pops sounded off. I didn't understand until I turned my head.

A hand wrapped around my face, covering my eyes. I was tackled out of my seat although it was slowed. My body hit the floor. The chair broke under me. It was a simple wooden chair.

I struggled to get the hands off my eyes. I didn't want to believe what I just saw. I had to check because it never happened. There was no way. I imagined it. I was paranoid and pictured it. I've watched too many horror movies, and the Devil was playing mind games. It didn't happen. No, no, no.

Somehow, I got the black film off my eyes.

Dad was there, barely breathing. There was a stain on his shirt. It looked like a little currant berry.

"Dad?" I called, kneeling beside him. He grabbed my hand.

"Maire?" he strained to say. He coughed, some blood coating his lips.

"Daddy?" I called again. I was trying to shout but my voice came out quiet.

"No!" he suddenly yelled. He moved to grab my shoulder as if he wanted to push me away. I looked up to see what he was screaming out.

A metal circle was pointed in my direction, a man looming over. The gun fired, the bullet going past me, striking and killing my dad. I looked down, seeing what the man did. Anger took over my body. I look up, my jaw clenched, fire burning in my eyes, chaos controlling my mind.

I held his stare, my eyes zeroing in on every feature. The eyes, the scar, the mustache.

I saw red.

Red,

Red,

Red.

Hair was sticking to my neck. My forehead was cold with sweat but my body was hot. I was burning. I was angry.

Vengeful.

How did I let myself become so misunderstood?

I wasn't the one that killed anyone.

But I will be.

How dare I ignore the fact that a fucking low life killed my father? How dare I do nothing? How dare I play the victim instead of taking action?

I sat up in bed.

I have a mission.

I'm going to kill Roberto.

I will do anything.

Walking into my bathroom, I turned on the shower. It smelled like blood due to the bloody jeans in my bath. I walked over to the bath, clogged the drain, and turned on the faucet to attempt to strip my jeans of the blood. I turned off the water after a while and then got into the shower.

I wasn't stupid despite my tender age. If Vincent could be a mafia Don at his age then I can accomplish my mission at seventeen. I was going to make a plan. I had time to do it. I was practically confined in this house due to my concussion. I had to eat and rest. I could plan out exactly what I would do.