The Assassin

He lived every day of his life knowing his assassin. H perhaps could have predicted his early death, he perhaps could have prevented it, but he didn’t. Night in, night out he laid in bed, and he was watched. Every moment he moved, every second he slept, the killer crept closer. And alas, she could protect him no more.

He laid in bed with nothing but his thoughts. As the dark enclosed the room, slowly his assassin came to him. The assassin held him it had never been his intentions to hurt him, it had never been his intentions to hurt anyone. But all the same, he moved in calculation. Driven by unexplainable cause, the killer held him close. There was no struggle, there was no scream. The killer and Christopher shared a deep love for one another, a relationship, but that would end here. The blade was long and cold, and as it sunk into his chest he gasped. He tried not to move. Tears poured from his eyes as he searched for strength. The knife carved awkwardly yet with certain purpose.

When it was finished the left hand held the heart, and the right hand held the maddened knife.

Christopher J. was shivering. As he stared at the ceiling and beyond, he tried to remember how he got here. It was as though everything before that moment had been lost, as though life had begun right then and there. All he knew, and had ever known was the pain in which he was drowning at that frame of time.

He moved his head forward on the pillow to see his murderer, to know him further. And when he looked down he knew what he would find. There, in his right hand was the guilty blade, and there in his left hand was his guilty heart. He laid back his head and closed his eyes feeling the sting of tears. He clenched them tight. He fell asleep to his nightmares, looking for tomorrow, not knowing if it would ever come.