Falling To Pieces

One Hell of a Birthday Present

It was a rainy afternoon in March, my birthday had just passed the day before. I was now sixteen years old with more skills than the average 25 year old had. I practiced my stealth endlessly as I hid from the organization of people trying to kill me. Why they want me dead, I'm not sure. But narrowly avoiding death was an exercise I had become all too familiar with. As I walked out of a 50's style diner onto a wide sidewalk, I looked around, becoming aware of everything that could've been an immediate threat. Other small buildings lined the street; some of them were novelty shops, others were restaurants. I had just eaten breakfast, awake at a time that it was still dark. When I left the building, I started heading west toward the Colorado mountains in the distance. Walking along the sidewalk, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was an unknown number. I answered the call and was met with a gravelly voice.

"Where do you think you're going, Zeke? You didn't seriously think that you could leave this nice little town without anyone finding you, did you?"

My heart rate quickened. I looked around again, trying to find the mystery person speaking to me, stalking me as I made my way through the town.

"Who are you?" I asked the man, trying to sound like I was someone that he shouldn't mess with. Shortly after I asked the question, a bullet whizzed past my head, shattering the window of the thrift store next to me. I ducked as another bullet bounced off of the concrete beneath me. God dammit. Why can't I just be left alone? I ran down the sidewalk, looking for any place that I could find cover in. After I passed 3 different stores, bullets going through the windows of each one, I turned left into an alleyway, taking cover behind a dumpster. I raised my phone to my ear again. "I said, who the hell are you?"

The mystery caller spoke once more, speaking in a smug tone of voice "I'm the one that's been given orders to kill you by the CKS. It's nothing personal, I promise. Just a hole in your head, and everything will be fine." He then hung up the phone.

The Confidential Killing Service. The same group that had been after me since I was eleven. Breathe, Ezekiel. Okay, if he knew where I was, then he was obviously on top of a building. After taking a minute to breathe and calm down a little, I started thinking of a plan to lure the assassin out of his little hiding spot, or at least figure out where he's at. I raised my head over the dumpster, hearing the man fire off another shot. Ping! The bullet ricocheted of the side of it. Another shot was soon fired after that, the muzzle flash of the gun leading my eyes four buildings down to see a human shape on top of the roof of a Santiago's Mexican Grill, brandishing a sniper rifle. I started moving out of the alleyway, watching the man. He fired one more round, this one skipping off of the hood of a car a couple inches from me, and raised his gun.

He's reloading.

I took this opportunity to sprint across the street and make my way behind the buildings on the other side. Because of the recent gunfire, the whole town was now awake and in a panic. The building next to me had a ladder that led up to the roof. I climbed, being sure not to make a sound as I made my way up the building. I reached the top and looked down the row of roofs that I had to go across to find the man that was trying to kill me. I was pleased to see that he had set his rifle back down and looked in the scope to someplace near the alleyway I had just hidden in. I crept along the rooftops, unsheathing a knife that I always kept in a holster in my jeans. Silently but quickly, I made my way to the sniper. I got behind him, and took a good look.

The man was definitely built, maybe a former soldier now working for a corrupt mercenary crew, focused on killing whoever got in their way. He had a thick beard, dark cargo pants and a knife holster around his ankle. It was just like the one I had found on the body of one of these guys and taken a few months ago. Around his chest, he had a Kevlar vest and around his waist, he had a belt with a 9mm pistol holstered on his side. Along with the pistol on his belt, he had 4 loaded magazines for it, and on the other side of it, he had 2 magazines for a .308 caliber sniper rifle; the exact gun he was using to try and kill me. One of the magazines was empty. He had earplugs in, which was a major flaw if he was trying to kill someone who knew how to use stealth to his advantage, as well as someone who knew how to fight, and fight well.

Against my better judgement, I decided to be a smartass when I walked up behind him, holding my knife behind my back. But, before I said anything, I carefully grabbed his pistol out of his holster and put that behind my back as well, planning to shoot it only if I had to.

"Well! That's a lovely gun you've got there! Do you mind if I take a couple of shots?" I said, with a mockingly joyful tone. At the first word, he quickly spun around, obviously surprised, like his target had tricked him. Oh wait, I did trick him.

He went back around and tried to pick his rifle up. In the time it had taken him to do that, I stepped forward, brought my hand down, and stabbed my knife into his hamstring. Upon taking my knife out of his leg, he fell backwards, grunting in pain. While he was on his back, I raised my knife and brought it back down. The man caught it and knocked the knife out of my hand. After this happened, I brought my other hand with the pistol in it around, put the barrel under his chin, and pulled the trigger. The blast of sound from the gun was deafening, the blood and brains shooting up and out of his head making making adrenaline turn to nausea. What a birthday present, someone's life.

I never did like killing, but I do it so I can survive.