Scavenger

Prologue

MARK
"Drop your weapon"
Like hell I will
I press the armrest of the rifle closer to my shoulder. "You first"
He hesitated, but he slowly turned his gun over and lay it on the ground in the front of him. He still had his other arm behind his back. He smiles at me. Just smiling made it seem as though his skin would rip, but alas, it held together. I couldn't tell his skin colour. He was grey according to me. A coat of dust covered every aspect of his visible body. "Now you lay your weapon down" he croaks at me. I shake my head. "Show me your other hand"
"No"
"Show. Me. Your. Other. Hand!" I demand, my finger wrapping around the trigger.
The mans lips trembled. My ears hear a slight sob. A tear rolls down his eye. I suddenly don't feel like I should be pointing my gun at him. Poor man. He was stuck in a gas station with barely any food or water with a fragile body. I hear more sobs. "Kill me, then. I have nothing to live for. Everyone I know is dead" he cries, tears suddenly bursting out of his eyes like a raining day. My shoulder begins to ache from the armrest. I shut my eyes.
My father was dead.
My mother was dead.
My sister was lost, presumably dead.
I feel a tear rolling down my cheek and it dies at my lips.

Then, in one quick act, the man lunged out at me, with a long, sharp, shiny object in hand. I step out of the way, fear suddenly expanding throughout my body. My breathing becomes quicker and heavier. The man tripped over his own feet and in one quick shout, fell onto the cold dust stone floor. He was crying and coughing. He obviously hadn't walked in a long time. He rolled onto his back. For the first time, I see his pain.

His kneecaps had gaping holes in them, from bullets. It was amazing that he even managed to lung at me. Across his stomach, was a huge slash cut, as if a lion had come and attacked him. He looked like a fragile hobo bear victim who had been shot in the kneecaps. He starts crying again. I aim my rifle at him, in defence. "Shoot me" he croaks. My eyes widen and my lips part slightly. He looks up at me. "No" I decide, lowering my weapon. He cries harder. "I'm going nowhere, I've got nothing to live for, nobody to see! So just kill me already! Kill me before-"

My finger snaps backwards onto the trigger and I hear the loud familiar sound that rings in my ears. I couldn't hear much through the ringing of my ears, but I could hear screaming and crying. My vision was blurry, but I could tell the man was dead. The screaming and crying wasn't coming from him. It was me. My rifle lay on the floor. My backpack lay next to me, unzipped and some of its contents sprayed across the floor. I was curled up in a ball, pinching myself as punishment. I wasn't pinching any random parts of my arm. I was pinching the painful and fresh cuts, as punishment. Just to remind me that this is not the person your parents wanted. They wanted Mark the playful young boy with lots of friends and a joyful life and really academically smart.

They would never have wanted Mark, the killing scavenger.