Assassini

p r o l o g u e

Naomi Grace Wallace (pictured above)

naomi

"Please... Let me live."

A man pleads in a separate room. I must have spaced out for a minute here, I was lost in the decor of this penthouse he owns. I began to walk towards the area he is and there I see blood quickly steeping its way through his left leg, he breathes heavily from the agonizing pain as he screams out for help when he sees me walk in. I can see tears escape his eyes either from the pain in his leg or the realization that he is about to die due to my accord.

I try my best to not overthink about the target that I am assigned to kill, however, this appeared to be an exception. He was a middle-aged man. Probably in his early forties, he just bought himself this nice place in this neighbourhood where the wealthy live, I am actually surprised how he was able to afford such a nice place. I can tell that he loves art with abstract paintings hanging all around. He was neat, everything had its own area, he even owns a cat. I ended up scaring off the cat when it heard the bullet. He seems to live such a lonely life because I am yet to see photos of his friends or family in his apartment. I am starting to feel bad for him. This man probably wants to live the best life that he could without the presence of his family. It is a shame that it has to be cut short.

I step closer to him. "You own such a lovely home. What do you do exactly?"

"I'm, I'm a businessman." He tries to formulate the words while blocking the blood to the best of his ability. "You like what you do?" I ask while looking through his cabinets and drawers. "I love it." he turns to me. We made eye contact. I could see in the very whites of his eyes that he was pleading for some aid, he was pleading for me to stop, he was pleading to live. At this point the blood had created a pool around him, I can see that the life in his eyes was slowly being drained out. He only had a few moments to live, however, I was not done doing what I need to do. Well, I didn't need to do it, I had to. It was my orders.

I finally found the knife cabinet and slowly searched for the right one to use. I sound like some psychopath now. 

I am at the start of my second semester in high school now, I literally just got done sending my final college applications before coming to terminate this man. I grinded with my studies, I work hard for what I believe in, and what I want to do. College is definitely something that I want to pursue, however, my life is not exactly suited for that.

Obviously being an assassin is not exactly attractive to colleges. I am not like those cool cybertronic hitmen that you see on tv shows or movies or those people who become "the chosen ones" as they accept their destinies. I was born into one. Members of my family have carried the tradition of becoming one with the creed while carrying the traditions of being an assassin.

 We could be dated to the earliest attempts on Julius Caesar or even the cunt that is Marc Antony. A few centuries forward after constant relocating, regrouping, reassembling our people through historical shifts. Eventually, they disbanded and the few sole survivors went their own ways to start over. Somehow my ancestors managed to make their way to rural America, and we have stayed here since. They all had the choice to start over again, to move on from this life of killing, they even changed their identities, yet I was never given that choice. 

It was like it was my divine right to live my life killing people who do bad things in order to keep up with the family tradition and make the world a "better" place. This practice stayed because it is for our "protection", however, I feel that we become more exposed the more we accept contracts. If the assassin's disbanded thousands of years ago due to exposure then why must I continue the tradition?