The seconds passed as if they were minutes. Nothing broke his concentration as his eyes gazed sharlply into mine. A smirk slowly grow into his face; then a smile; then a full on laugh. I never lost eye-contact but the thoughts of why he was laughing crossed my mind, as it was an awkward time to do so.
"Haha, I won't kill you. Yet."These words were releiving, up until the 'yet'. I knew that my time was coming, but when, and why was yet to be determined. He pushed me to the ground and walked off, toting the gun on his shoulder and walking back to the truck.
I walk through the door, to find the bitch lying in the bathtub, she shrieks and begs for mercy. Like hell she'll get that. I pull a machete from my back pocket, her screams get increasingly louder. Not for long. I stab her, and it's empowering me. I just can't stop. I stabbed over fifty times and it was fantastic. She had it coming to her, she knows that I would come back. I am a man of my word. Her lifeless body sinks to the bottom of the red water. I pulled the paper out of my pocket and crossed out her name. Three to go. They will all go like you.
I wake up to rain dripping onto my forehead. It's pouring and cold. I hear the roar of thunder in the distance and a bolt of lightning illuminate the horizon. I scramble under a thick pine tree that will give me protection in the wild weather. I start to remember the dream I had. I killed somebody? Was this even a dream? Maybe this is why I am here. I overload my mind with questions that I have no idea how to answer or where to start.
I look over to the truck, to see the two men asleep. I try think back, as hard as I can to how I got here. I have no recollection, and the puzzling events leading up to where I am today is starting to give me a baffling headache. I sit myself against the tree and try my best to get back to sleep.
Yeah, this is it. 639 Forde Street. I try the handle of the door, it's locked. Fuck it. I kick the door down and I hear someone call out 'hello?'. That's the voice I am looking for. I turn left into the kitchen, to see a balding man. Bingo. He tries to get out of his seat, stumbles and falls to the ground. He pleads to me, like that will do anything good. Before I pull out a 9mm handgun he throws a knife at me, it slices open my right forearm. I hesitate a short second and then shoot. I empty the round of my trusty 9mm into his obese body. I wipe my blood on his face. Two down, two to do.
It's now daylight. The sun is somewhat shining, but the temperature doesn't reflect that. What the hell was last night all about? The dreams I am having are really starting to freak me out. The wind blows gingerly across my face and on the wind laughter comes. The two men are sharing a joke. I get off the grass and walk over to the pick-up.
I lean on the side as they eye me up. I feel another beating coming up. The man with the ginger goatee grabbed a tyre iron from the back of the GMC. Anger seemed to overwhelm him as the grip on the iron was tight, he was not letting go.
"You want to know how it feels? Huh? You want to feel the torterous pain you left on families after what you did? People like you don't deserve to live."
Before I could say anything, he swung wildly at me. I fended off the first blow and something caught my eye. A scar, about 5 inches long on my right forearm. Identical to the wound I had in my dream. What the hell does this mean? Am I....Am I a....
A smirk came across my face, the weather was ominous and so was the mood. The rain poured with no holding back. Just how I liked it. I stepped out of the Mercedes and ran to shelter. I flicked the rain off my trenchcoat with my hands and adjusted my looks. It's go time. The weapon of choice would be my 9mm, I tapped it to remind myself where it was. A holster on my right, attached to my leather belt. The door was ajar, something was not right here. I stepped into the hallway which has family portrats. I stopped and peered at one. I recognised two people in them. My targets.
I know the bedroom is the left, I turn the handle and enter. I see objects in the bed. I snicker to myself and think this couldn't be easier. As I take my 9mm out of the holster I am struck from behind. The gun flies under the bed and I lay on the ground motionless. I think I am about to black out. Before I do, I hear the forcefull words of "Hey boss, he's down."
I wake, knowing what I am. I am a monster, I am nothing close to human. I am a killer, I do what I am told. I erupt in an evil laugh. They know the truth, and so do I. I am no longer living life in a shade of uncertainty. I am a force not to be reckoned with. My victims were random. I had never met them, and knew nothing about them. Same goes for the victims.
"You fucked them over! You're a lunatic! You're not human, You're shit! A worthless piece of trash. This is the end. Don't bother begging for you're life. You have none."
His words meant nothing, he was just a man with a goatee to me. I was superior, I was one top of the word. Though, he was right. People like me don't deserve to live.
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