Here’s a short story I wrote. Hoping to do more of these!
A Killer
“Welcome to Elore – A Town of New Beginnings”
Some of the letters were faded but the oak sign was firmly planted to the side of the main stone road. It was getting dark and the last remnants of sunset were peeking out between the alleyways. The city’s nightlife began to bustle and could be heard even in this isolated part of the town. I’ve heard from the townsfolk that not too many villagers trounce around here in the northern part of town at night, safe for thieves and the occasional mercenary. I grab a seat at a bench facing an apple tree in a corner of the northern square and light my cigarette. This should be a good spot.
He thinks I don’t notice him over there, loitering outside of a pub with a newspaper. I’m surprised though, it only took him two years to find me this time. It looks like after spending a lifetime tracking someone down, you tend to get better at it. Practice makes perfect I guess. However it appears there’s still quite a lot he doesn’t know about me. Because even at this distance – about a couple of yards away – I can see his left hand shakily gripping his weapon behind the newspaper. The dagger he intends to kill me with.
I inhale a puff of my cigarette and exhale for longer than necessary, in an attempt to quell the guilt that is resurfacing. This story began eight years ago. I’m a fighter for hire which means I take any request for jobs that may require a little extra … force. Provided that the requester can pay up of course. About a year after I got started I was contacted by a certain client, who requested that I partnered up with one of his men to intimidate a guy into paying up his debt to him. Easy enough. I don’t particularly like working with others but the pay was good.
An odd feeling started to creep up on me however. Nothing seemed out of ordinary in the neighbourhood I was walking through. There were parks and families with their children walking around. It was not a place you would expect to find someone with underground connections, especially for something like a debt. This feeling heightened when I saw my temporary partner, whom I met outside of the target’s house. He was dressed in very dark clothes – I could see a grey suit vest under a large black robe. A huge contrast against the beige and white houses everywhere. Not a very bulky person, but certainly taller than me by at least a foot. I caught a glimpse of a handgun strapped to his waist as he waved to me. It’s possible the target hired bodyguards which was why we needed some extra assurance. But it was odd that I wasn’t informed of this. I wish I had trusted my gut back and left immediately.
After waiting for the area to clear up just a bit, I pushed down the door and shouted. There was a woman, who immediately shielded her young child upon our entering, and a man who was presumably the father. Clearly there was a mistake of some sort, seeing as our target was a man whose description didn’t even match the father who was currently standing in the way of us and his family. I turned to my partner looking for an explanation only to see that he had already drawn his gun. He fired on the man who collapsed instantly after taking a shot to the forehead.
Without missing a beat he then shot the mother and just as he was about to shoot the boy I tackled him, causing the shot to miss and shatter the window behind the dead mother slumped over the boy. His head hit the door handle and he slumped over, unconscious. There was no debt to be paid here. There never was. This was an assassination.
I went over to the boy who was now calling for his mother with tears in his eyes. As I took in the awful scene in front of me, he looked up and froze. One glance at this horrified child’s face and my heart sunk. It was one of the few times in my life where I felt truly powerless. The sounds of a commotion outside of the house were what broke my daze. The gunshots alerted people in the surrounding area. I leaped out of the now broken window and took one more sorrowful look at the scene behind me. Another look at the tear filled eyes of the boy and it felt like I was suffocating. It was too much.
And this young man, who dropped his newspaper and started purposefully striding towards me, has no tears in his eyes yet I can still see the pain I saw that day.
It’s clear he disregarded any aspect of being hidden at this point. I can feel his unmoving gaze directed toward me with hate as he fast walks the yard or so between us. I couldn’t ignore him anymore. I stood up with my cigarette still in my mouth and take one last puff before flicking the dimming bud and turning left to face him. He hesitated ever so slightly as I stood up but continued forward for a few more metres before stopping mere feet away from me. His dagger was still hidden, but he pulled back his hood to reveal his face.
“Do you remember me?” he said, with a hateful look.
Of course I do. How could I ever forget?
“I’ll make you pay for what you did!” he shouted. His voice was shaky.
I rest my arms to my side while staying in place. My lack of resistance doesn’t seem to faze him as he lunges towards me with the dagger.
I couldn’t do anything for him back then. But this time I’ll make things right. I’ll do this one thing for him and make him a killer.
“Took you long enough, kid.” I said, as the dagger pierces my chest.
Scripted Journal 