It all began six-thirty in the morning. I can remember it all too clearly; I can paint every second of that day.
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It was a bright day and Matt was on his stomach slowly slidding off the bed like a snake. The clock on his nightstand told him it was almost six o'clock. His dad would have left for work, and his mom would be making breakfast for him. French toast with lots of sugar on it.
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I opened my eyes, I saw nothing.
I blinked, closed my eyes then opened them again.
My eyelashes brushed against a silky substance... I was blindfolded.
I tried to break my hands free but it was nearly impossible. Then I remembered this,
Time doesn't matter, but precision does.
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Matt awoke only to fill his nostrils with the scent of a burnt french toast... with lots of sugar it. On his way to the kitchen, he stumbled down the stairs. It was six in the morning when no one should be expected to have much coordination.
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I grabbed the neck of the gaurd and thrust his head against the wall, quickly taking his silver colt. I asked where Esch was, at gunpoint of course.
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He fell. His chest hurt and he thought he was having a heart attack. His muscle turned to stone. The earth pulled him down and he buried his head into his mother's breasts.
Hours later, he woke up, uncovering his face.
Uncovering himself from the world that hated him,
uncovering his raw emotions,
uncovering his red, dry eyes that already had too much pain and anger in them.
YOU ARE READING
One For Me, One For You
Mystery / ThrillerA young man finds out his long lost father is a professional killer. When his mother is murdered, the son is recruited into his father's old organization and trained by a man named Ivan to follow in his dad's footsteps.
