Immortality

15 3 8
                                              

This was perplexing. Rem had never had someone fail to die before. He tried twisting the embedded knife once more, wondering if he'd somehow just miss-aimed his weapon and accidentally stabbed beside his victim's heart instead. The boy kneeling before Rem groaned as he once again twisted the sunken knife.
Rem'd brow crinkled in confusion. By all accounts the kneeling boy should be dead. Rem had already stabbed him through the heart three times, and gooey, dripping blood was everywhere.
The boy groaned again. Rem yanked the knife out of the boys chest for the fourth time in the last 17 minutes, raising the knife once again, preparing for another strike. Catching him off guard, the boy groaned again. The boy's eyes were fluttering now. It was impossible. The boy's failure to die was beginning to concern Rem. What was Rem supposed to do if the person he was hired to kill refused to die? Nonsense, Rem thought, he'll die. Someone can't just refuse to die after being stabbed repeatedly through the heart.
Suddenly, as if reading Rem's muddled thoughts, the boy spoke.
"I'm not gonna die you know." The boy bitterly groaned. "That should be apparent by now."
Rem didn't reply, he was too shocked to speak.
"However, what's not apparent is why you're attempting to stab me to death . Do you mind enlighten me?" The boy spoke again, his words sounding as if he was a 50 year old Medieval Knight.
Rem simply blinked, to astounded to comprehend the should-be-dead's boy's regal speech.
"You're not mute are you?" The boy questioned. "Oh and do you mind relieving me of these cuffs. The metal keeps biting into my skin when I slope forward and it's mighty uncomfortable." The boy seemed to glance around for the first time, taking in the nice white carpet of his own home stained with still gushing blood, and the plush, forest green velvet chair, now ruined with seeping, ruby liquid, that he happens to be handcuffed to. The boy sighed heavily. As he sighed, more blood spurted from one of his stab wounds. "And I just recently had this room remodeled. What a pity." The boy muttered.
Rem felt faint in the head. The dead boy- or boy who should be dead- was complaining about his carpet. Rem had just snuck into this boy's family mansion, kidnapped him in the dead of night, cuffed him to an oak chair in one of the many empty studies lining the hall, and proceeded to stab the boy repeatedly in the heart. By all accounts the boy should not be muttering about his ruined carpet at the moment. The boy shouldn't even me mumbling! He should be dead!
"How exactly are you..." Rem began to question, before trailing off as he watched a dark clump of blood ooze down the boy's ruined nightgown.
"Oh!" The boy suddenly chirped, "my apologies, I have entirely forgotten to inform you!"
"Inform me?" Rem wondered, utterly confused.
"Yes, allow me to introduce myself." The boy assured. "I am Sir Cameroon, and I am immortal."
Rem laughed, finally realizing that this was all a practical joke. The anonymous man who had hired him to kill the boy before him, was really just a trickster. This wasn't a real assassination mission after all, this was just a prank.
"You laugh?" The boy seemed arrogant now.
"Yes, of course, immortals aren't real." Rem retorted, slowly becoming aware that this might not be a prank after-all, but perhaps an attempt to expose him. Rem discreetly glanced around for cameras recording him. There were none.
"Oh really?" The boy smirked. "They explain how my heart is still beating."
Rem opened his mouth to retort, but he could think of no answer. The boy should be dead. Rem's mouth flopped like a confused fish.
"Yeah, that's right assassin boy." The bleeding boy snickered. "I'm immortal."
"But h-" Rem began. The boy cut him off.
"You see, it all started about 709 years ago when I decided I didn't want to grow up. My mother kept reminding me that I was to soon marry my arranged fiancé and that I must soon find a profession to support her with, but I didn't want that. So, secretly, one night, I snuck out into the woods, searching for the ragged old witch who lived there. She found me quite quickly, promised me immortality in exchange for me never seeing my mum again, and just like that, poof. I received perfect immortality." The boy grinned. "I haven't aged a day since."
Rem, horrified, began to back away from the boy, still clutching his knife.
What kind of person trades their mother for ever lasting life? Even Rem, an assassin by profession, even visited his mother on holidays and the occasional weekend. How terrible.
"Wait, don't go!" The boy suddenly cried as Rem reached the doorway. "You still have to un-cuff me!" Rem turned and fled. He fled away from the bleeding boy. Away from the mansion, which turned out not to be a family many ion after all. And most of all, away from the mother-trading-immortal-wretch still chained up inside a newly remodeled study.
As he ran, Rem's pulse races, his breath caught in his lungs, and sweat dripped into his eyes. He was panting now, barely breathing, gasping for oxygen.
Suddenly, Rem bolted straight up in bed, his pulse still racing, his breaths still coming in raggedly. He feverishly glanced around before realizing he was once again in his own bed. He wasn't an assassin, he never had been. He was just his same old 12 year old self. Rem took a deep breath. What a peculiar nightmare that had been. Maybe it had been from those brusselsprouts his mother had fed him at super time earlier that night.
Quietly, Rem settled back into bed, not noticing the mangled pair of handcuffs hanging from his bedpost's banister.

The Victim Who Wouldn't Die Where stories live. Discover now