I will regret this but I do it anyway. I take the knife, it goes into skin, I go into darkness.
Under the cover of darkness I creep away from my target. She had no time to scream before she hit the floor, only enough time to just barely glimpse my face as I sunk back into the cool embrace of the night. As I leapt across rooftops I noticed an inconsistency in the darkness ahead. A flash of familiar boots under a robe similar to my own identified the other assassin as my teammate Alex. A swift double step places me beside them and we exchange a short glance before slipping silently into our temporary hideout. I ignore the shaking in my hands as I trudge to the kitchen to take a swig from the bottle sitting on the counter. The alcohol burns as it slips down my throat. Setting down I turn a glare on Alex.
"Will you stop leaving vodka on the counter? I swear every time I go for my drink bottle there's alcohol there instead."
Alex shrugs and brushes past me to the pantry. They open the door and pull out some bread and cheese.
"It's not my fault you always pick up whatever's on the bench without checking it."
I grab a knife and chopping board and place it on the bench in front of them.
"You can make up for it by preparing us food. You know my hands are shaking too much anyway."
Alex's eyes flicker to my hands, noting the distinct tremors that show the effects of my Parkinson's. I pressed them to my side, hiding my hands from Alex's view.
"Yes, I know. It's getting worse. Yes, I regret killing those people. I No I don't care I'm going to lose all function. I really don't. You know I'll let myself get caught, and executed, before I'd let this disease take control of me. I don't care. And I wish you didn't too."
I saw the sadness in Alex's eyes, the pain. He'd grown close to me in the few months we spent together, targeting random victims shrouded in a cloak of the night. He knew that I was going to leave, to get caught intentionally, to let myself be executed before the disease I despise took control of my body. My body, my soul, my spirit. The only things I have left to call my own.
When I snuck away the next morning Alex was deep in sleep. They didn't wake as I kissed them gently on the cheek, tucked a single piece of paper into their hand and slipped out the door. I walked around town, through the busy shops. Then I walked into the most popular hotel in town, registered a room under my name, and lay down to wait for my time to end.
I waited to get caught.
Φ•Φ•Φ•Φ•Φ•Φ•Φ•Φ•Φ•Φ•Φ
English class again. I was give the first line, told not to write anything too dark (like death/suicide because I have to be told not to kill my characters) and yeah. I hate it. Being given a first line is not helpful.
Sweet Dreams
