The start is always the hardest to write, right? It's like the tip of an iceberg that you just don't know how deep it goes.. alright, here goes:
It's 2:27am in the morning, he's drunk out of his head. He had a few to drink earlier, so he went out on a walk.. just a brief walk around his area to clear his head. As you do. Or not. Headphones in, (AirPods Pro) so the noise cancelling was on, blocking out all the sounds of the outside world. The wind was blowing through his hair, it flapped around his baseball jacket and made it's way through his joggers. The wind was quite intense. Almost like the intensity you need for a late night walk. Bollywood music on, not the depressing stuff. The lively stuff. The lovely stuff. The music that made the dark skies dance to the beat, the type to set the stars asleep with the sweetest vocals you could hear. Maybe that's why you can't see some stars in the night. Or maybe it's pollution.
His name was Hamza.
He danced in his steps as he walked back, the vocals were calling him home. The voices were speaking to his heart, and his heart was speaking back. It was the spark he needed to feel after the night he had. He really did feel as if he deserved something to feel good after lifetimes of suffering. He felt as if his soul was alive but barely breathing through the centuries it was awake through. He tucked out his black t-shirt from his joggers and felt the late night breeze through his body, he had never felt so alive but so dead at the same time. The wind surged through his body like electricity and set off the sparks in his eyes.. it was beautiful.
He kept walking, walking and walking. He was almost home. He walked slower than usual, to get that last song in. And as he couldn't, he sat on the brick wall outside his house. About two or three feet tall, he sat on the wall and looked to the skies. He saw and felt serenity. Until it all fell dark..
He felt the grip of leather across his lips and the coldness of steel across his neck. His vision was slipping away, fading into black and white.
The assassin cradled the back of Hamza's head in the palm of his right hand and stood in front of him, watching the blood gush from his throat. His eyes synchronised with Hamza's.. the turned completely white and smoke started to erupt from his eyes, like the soul of a ghost leaving your eyes.
"You've suffered for many a lifetime.. it's time for you to rest in peace, finally. We've been watching you.. longer than you've ever known."
