The work of an assassin doesn’t require feelings, the instructions is to shoot to kill and to leave without a trace. He was a professional. At this moment he was on his way to annihilate his last victim of the day.
He turned into an isolated alley, when suddenly a shiny black ford screeched to a stop beside him. A masked man handed over a large package enveloped inside a brown suitcase. The assassin took it gracefully; handing over a few hundred-dollar bills back and whispering something, within seconds the car had disappeared once more.
The assassin made his way; he walked without making a sound, a silent assassin, going in and out of weaving alleys and roads. Until reaching a towering, abandoned house. The windows were boarded over, insects of all kinds had found a home in-between the hundreds of cracks that had formed, the front garden alone looked like a jungle, overgrown with grass and plants.
The assassin crept towards the rotting door, which was only held on by one hinge. He opened it slowly releasing a loud creak. The door thudded behind him once he stepped in. He made his way up the stairs, taking every step cautiously. He arrived at the room right at the top, where he started opening the briefcase, beside the window.
He carefully assembled his gun, making sure everything was set up perfectly. Once he was completely finished, every detail in place, he looked for his target. He aimed at the door. The door of the grand looking house opposite, the kind built for a wealthy family.
As his eyes narrowed, they were no longer focused on his target. He blinked once, twice, three times, but the same image stayed in front of his eyes. Himself as a 9-year-old boy, alone in a deep, dark, damp place.
“ Mum, dad”, he yelled, in-between tears, “ where are you? Mum I’m scared”
He sat there, rolled up into a tiny, little ball in the corner rocking backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. He sat there yelling for ages and ages, the same words over and over again until his throat was too dry to yell anymore.
Everyone knew his parents weren’t coming back except him, he hadn’t realized he’d been abandoned. He sat there hoping until he heard footsteps and voices…
The image disappeared, leaving him with the seed of anger which grew bigger and bigger uncontrollably. If the eyes really are the windows to your soul, his soul was a raging fire. Externally, there was no flicker or signs of the emotions he felt.
Slowly he pulled the trigger and released a bullet aiming in right at the hit 1…2…3. The bullets hit her straight in the chest. As planned, she fell to the floor, blood pouring out of her wound, accompanied by a chorus or screams and shouts from the people around.
The assassin sat and watched for a few minutes, as if he enjoyed the pain he had caused, people were rushing around in a panic. From the distance came police sirens. This was the signal that it was time to leave. He packed up with the pleasure of knowing his job had been done.
Silently, he sneaked down the stairs carrying his weapons briefcase; his day’s work was fulfilled. He went out the back door, where the same black Ford was waiting, he looked back once more, before smiling an evil grin and sliding into the car.
