Between Black and White (Youngwritersshortstory Entry)

Between Black and White

A/N: There is some violence just a heads up. YOUNGWRITERSPRIZE ENTRY: PLEASE VOTE!!

My hand no longer shook as I held the wicked steel pistol.

The man was on his knees, his pleading brown eyes boring into my own and following the tip of the gun until it was out of his line of vision- until it was pressed between his eyes. After a moment's silence, his gaze faltered to the floor, an admittance of defeat. It was as if, without a doubt, he knew he was going to die, that his pleadings were useless against my motives- and he was right. I gave the man time to close his eyes, my own trailing along his jaw line to where a single salty tear slipped past his eyelashes and down his cheek. Closing my own eyes, I pulled the trigger.

"You will not die without being mourned." That was the last sentence his ears would ever strain to hear.

I left before I heard the dull thud of his lifeless body hitting the striped tiles of his kitchen floor. I left before I heard the strangled screams of his innocent young daughter and wife. I left before I heard all of that.

<<>>

I reached the apartment with a bound set of cash of various currencies tangled between my fingertips. I shut the door quietly, trying not to wake her. Kneeling next to her bed, I brushed a small strand of fine black hair out of her eyes. No amount of money could fix the fact that she was dying; and I hated that there was nothing I could do but watch as the lung cancer spread like diseased vermin throughout her body- until her bright green eyes dulled into nothingness.

But, right now, in this moment, it was just and her and me -- and it would only ever be her.

"Charlie..." She managed to rasp out.

My eyes glittered with silent tears, but I suppressed them back. I had to be strong, never for me, but for her.

"Ashley," I spoke softly, never raising my harsh tone, as to avoid harming her in anyway. "I'm here. I'm back."

Lightly, I cupped her cheek with my hand, the very one that had been used to take a life instead of preserving it, brushing it against her delicate and feeble skin. Chemotherapy, radiotherapy; it was all being done to stop the lung cancer from spreading to her heart- and she was only getting worse.

After the first month, we were at a loss of money, the majority of the apartment furniture had been sold for cash and there was never enough food in the fridge. She was dying and I couldn't even afford to help her. I hated myself for it. After six months of training, not long after we both had turned nineteen, I became an assassin for one of the most powerful gangs in New York City, receiving paychecks for each of her visits to the hospital. It had been seven years since I had joined.

Leaning down, I lightly kissed her lips. She smiled, her eyes full of sorrow as soundless tears slipped past her long eyelashes and down her cheeks, staining its beauty with her sadness. With my thumb, I rubbed away her tears, trying my best not to let this poison her time left- only a few weeks at most. I couldn't lie by telling her everything was okay, because it wasn't. Nothing about this situation was ever going to be okay. So instead I told her I was here for her, as I would be until the end.

It was when she could no longer see me, no longer hear me, that I broke down and cried. That would be the last time I would cry for years.

<<>>

"Charlie Taylor, here for last week's payment, I suppose?" hissed the voice of a snake. But no, instead it was Mr. Rochshire, the leader of the Vipers, the gang supporting us financially.

"Charles Taylor, sir." I spat and nodded curtly, my eyes glaring into his own.

I hated this man with a loathing passion. He had killed innocent people, children, even a pregnant woman just for the fun of it- just to see the fear in their wide eyes before the life was beaten out of them. Mr. Rochshire only smirked and shook his head, intrigued with my hostile reaction. His eyes flashed darkly from beneath his sunglasses, before his hand struck out and gripped my neck, effectively cutting off the air supply to my brain. I couldn't struggle in his hold, knowing that this would only anger him more.