literature

The Assassin

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Literature Text

His voice rang out in the cold night, terrified and gasping.


"Dammit, why are you chasing me?!"


He kept running.


"I didn't do anything! Please!"


A splash of a foot landing in a puddle, somewhere behind him. He twisted around, nearly falling. Stumbled.


A spike of cold fear. The hooded visage of his pursuer, the thumping rhythm of running shoes just feet behind him.


Desperate, he grabbed a dumpster, shoved it over in a pathetic attempt to slow down his pursuer. Weak, futile hope blossomed in his chest, then faded as the footsteps returned, louder now.


"What do you want from me?!"


But he did know what the pursuer wanted from him. His life.


His legs were leaden now, cramping up under him. He couldn't go on. Not for long. Not much longer.


He kept running.


He reached down, fumbled in his pocket. Pulled out his phone, slid it open with shaking hands. Thumbed the small buttons-


A loud crack from behind. In his hand the phone exploded into a shower of plastic parts and metal bits.


He risked a backward glance. Saw a dark figure, an outstretched arm, a smoking gun.


Who was this guy? He was toying with him!


"Get away from me!"


He kept running. Felt a last surge of desperate energy fill him. Knew that this would be his last leg of the race.


His eyes were shut now. His feet were working on their own. Oh god, oh god. He didn't want it to end like this-


And suddenly he slammed into a person. He fell to the ground in a flailing heap.


"Watch where you're going, pal!" A high, female voice.


He looked up. He was out of the back alleys, in the middle of the busy street now.


Safe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was still shaking, inside, but at least he was safe. That had been the closest brush with Death in his whole life. A long draught of cold cola helped to calm him down. He dusted off his suit, leaned back. This, surely, was the most comfortable park bench he'd ever been on.


Taking a slow, deep breath, he looked up from his drink.


The can dropped from his fingers, clattered to the floor. Coke spilled and fizzed by his shoes, forming a puddle of froth by the expensive leather. But the only thing he could think of was-


The hood. The lone man standing, unmoving, in the centre of the bustling crowd. Watching him.


He stood up abruptly, swaying on numb feet. Oh god. It couldn't be...


The hooded face tilted upward, and dark eyes met his.


No! Oh, god, no!


He backed away slowly.


For a moment the hooded figure was obscured by a wall of bodies. And then the next second, the figure had vanished. Completely.


He felt a chill run down his spine. He turned. Fled.


Elbowed somebody in the ribs. "Out of the way--"


Ran down the street, dodging the stunned passers-by. Turned at Fourth Avenue, sprinted down that, twisted left at Amistad Street. Ran until he was sure he had lost the pursuer. Then he turned, sprinted down another alley, just in case. Weaving skillfully between the stinking filth, the accumulated grime of a dozen years.


Turned another corner. Froze.


Black on black, a hooded figure melted from the shadows and stepped in front of him.


"Not you--"


His sentence was cut short. His eyes widened, mouth falling open as he felt the thin edge of the blade slide between his ribs.


A desperate, gasping breath. Trembling hands found the assassin's knife and wrapped around those cold fingers, almost trying to pull it out. But he couldn't.


His face contorted in a howl of silent agony as the knife was extracted in a single smooth pull.


He felt his knees buckle beneath him. Those cold hands caught him, lowered him gently to the floor.


"Why?" he gurgled, past the blood in his lungs.


"You know it better than I," came a low, calm voice from beneath the hood, sounding oddly distant. "Your crimes have harmed too many people."


A series of memories flashed through his mind, a montage of all his crimes: his hand carving a signature on a pale sheet of paper, the deal he'd closed with that smuggler; the scam he'd run on the banks, the one that had earned him millions; the people whom he'd framed for that fraud, the begging, pleading face of the fall guy as he was led out of the courtroom; the sallow-faced visage of a thin man whom he'd asked to kill that nosy reporter who'd been probing. All these flashed before his eyes, and the murmuring voices of his memories were an unholy chorus, like some twisted monument damning him for all his sins.


The assassin watched with silent eyes.


He lay still, then, searching that dark face half hidden in shadow. Not a man, he realized, a youth. Barely older than fifteen, but with the hard, expressionless face of one who'd seen too much of the world. Eyes that were cold as ice, but burned within. Eyes that he found suddenly all too similar to a wolf's.


He tried to say more, but his lips could no longer form the words. His whole body was cold now, numb, unfeeling. The pain of the wound had faded, the stickiness of drying blood on his hands now distant, almost nonexistent. He felt so tired, so very tired.


Darkness was falling over him now like a warm blanket. And he couldn't fight it. Everything was dimming, blurring, fading away, except for the cold face of this young man, and those eyes--


For one last time he opened his mouth to speak. But before the words emerged, everything went dark.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The assassin watched as the man's eyes dimmed. Then he rose. One hand returned the knife to its sheath; the other trailed over the man's face, two fingers closing his eyes.


"May the final darkness bring the peace you have sought," he murmured. "Rest in peace."


And then he was gone.
All righty, another story (not like I've written a lot, lol). This one's more recent, written today, and a little (and by little I mean VERY) inspired from Assassin's Creed--it's something like a modern day assassin. It's actually a story I branched off from another -- that can be found at shift.org/User:WolfyDrake95/Price_in_Blood -- and the assassin is my character, Taylor, although for the sake of not confusing people, I've not mentioned any names in this story.

I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Although I doubt you people might find it good.
© 2010 - 2024 Drake95
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EllieGrim's avatar
Awesome story! :)