Gifts From Death

Jack

The subway jerked back and forth. Jack clutched the pole. He hoped to not fall because, well, that would be embarrassing. But what was ironic was that he was wearing gloves while clutching the pole and THAT was embarrassing. You see, Jack was extremely germaphobic and carried hand sanitizer everywhere he went. Literally, EVERYWHERE! Even with gloves on he still shuddered and, after, would still use hand sanitizer.

On top of all that, Jack had a phobia of, well, too much I can even remember. He was, pretty much, afraid of everything.

JERK! SCREEEEECH! The subway had reached Waterloo Station, which happened to be Jack's destination.

Jack was fairly small (I think is the best way to put it without being rude) for his age, so he easily worked his way through all of the other passengers that were too busy pushing and shoving each other to see that a fifteen-year-old was crawling under their legs.

The subway doors opened and Jack, somehow, made it out before anyone trampled on him first.

Giving an evil look to the group of people still pushing and shoving each other out of the subway, Jack speed-walked towards the elevator that would take him up to the main station floor.

Jack could hear the elevator creaking down, but he still rolled his eyes.

After, what felt like, a lifetime, the elevator doors opened. But there was no one in the elevator. Jack just shrugged it off, not worrying about it.

Jack's face hit the floor. He scurried into the elevator before it closed. Luckily, no one had noticed. He had tripped on something. Jack sat up rubbing his nose and looked back. What he saw perturbed him. A black present, it looked like. He slowly opened it while the elevator still creeped up, ever so slowly. He almost fell backwards because what he saw in the box perturbed him even more. A silver handgun.