For My Target [On-going]

Prologue

I run towards my room and lock the door behind. I jump onto the bed and lie against the wall as a tear rolls down my flushed cheek. Now that it was already down, I lose control of those I was saving for my eye, and let them flow, too.

I have had enough. Really.

I then draw wildly to my junk closet, in search of the old hanky I owned, I had thrown it away when I had decided life was no more a mess, and things were, somehow, going to be better, yes, better, but I had been wrong all along.

There was all my old stuff in the closet. The little pink school bag which I owned during my time at Pre-School, the yellow brooch Grandma Evelyn had gifted me on my 11th Birthday, Dad's journal before he went to Germany for his job seven years from now that I had stolen from his suitcase, I vividly remember the scene, and a little collar which belonged to Gary, my little Greyhound who died the last week.

My cerulean blue eyes then squint at a misty pile of yellow papers stacked in a corner under the pink bag. I direction towards it and pick up one. This paper has 'Number One' written on the top of it.

I open my mouth as I realize these are the letters I wrote for my target. But how are they safe today and in the same condition they were five years ago?

You've read the right thing, five years. I'm Autumn, a teenager a.k.a a murderer. Murderer? But I didn't murder anyone!

All Cubs at Loyola High seem to have listened the wrong story. That was five years back, when I used to write to my target, and he replied me in a strange way.....