The knife thrower

Chapter-5

  FIGHTING SCENE WARNING

"Mama?"
I've been looking for her since I heard that scream a few minutes ago.

  The only place I haven't checked is the garage.

I slowly grabbed my fathers gun. I never did like hurting people, but I had to have some sort of protection on me just Incase.

   I've only ever killed because my father made me do it. My mother would try so hard to stop him, but that only made him more mad.

  The first time happened last year, the night after my thirteenth birthday.

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  My father woke me up and said it was time for me to finish training.

  I, of course had no idea what was going on, or what was going to happen.

  He led me to the training room. Once inside, I saw a man in a suit, tied to a chair, with a burlap bag over his head.

My father handed me a gun and told me to aim to kill, not to please.

I dropped the gun, and tried to run away to get help, or even my mom.

Two of my fathers men pulled me back to him roughly.

"I can't kill someone! Please!"

The man in the suit was visibly shaking, but never said a word.

  My father didn't say a word either. He stared at me with a cold stone hard face, and snapped his fingers.

My mom was brought out. Her hands were behind her back, restrained by a bodyguard.

   I knew what he was doing.

"Either shoot him, or mommy dies." He said.

  The man restraining her pulled out a gun and held it up to her head.

I paled.

"Please don't do this dad! Please don't!" I sobbed.

  "Kill me Katrina!" My mom yelled.

I couldn't kill her. She's the only parent that I one hundred percent knew loved me. Yet she was pleading for me to kill her.

"I'll give you three seconds to make your choice."

I looked at him with pleading eyes.

  "One."

I was now wailing.

"Two."

I looked at the gun that was put back in my hands.

"Three."

My dad nodded at his guard.

My mom prepared herself to stop all together.

The guards finger was on the trigger.

   A shot sounded through the room.

The man in the chair slumped over.

  His white shirt slowly being died with the color red.

I looked at the gun I had just shot him with.

My mom looked at me with sadness in her eyes.

"Welcome to the family. I've never been such a proud father."
He said as he cut my rib cage deep enough to leave a scar.
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