Assassin for Hire

March 15, 2011
By sandhawk3000 PLATINUM, Collinsville, Connecticut
sandhawk3000 PLATINUM, Collinsville, Connecticut
45 articles 1 photo 6 comments

It was my job, it wasn’t something I did because I really wanted to…but because somewhere deep down inside, I felt like I had to. I’m not entirely sure that I would do it if I wasn’t paid, I’m not that sick in the head. But the money it pays is good, and who doesn’t want good money? Of course…to get good money, you have to be willing to do jobs, a job that nobody can ever know about. And to get these jobs, you have to get your name out in a way that doesn’t put you in danger. Work with an alias maybe, I had my own of course. SandHawk, you can just call me SandHawk. That would be Capital S-a-n-d-capital H-a-w-k, easy enough. And that’s all you can call me…I don’t quite trust you yet.
My job? I guess it would be a lot easier for me to show you my job, than really explain it to you. If I explain you might leave, if I do it…well, you’ll just see now won’t you?
Hold your breath…hold your breath, and make sure you don’t look down if heights scare you. I won’t even explain how I got to the top of this building, you’re not ready for that. As I see my target I press back against the side of the building, holding my breath. Everything is silent, I am silent…the only feeling the cold prickle on the back of my neck. Then I back up quiet as a mouse, and run jump, rolling onto the roof of another building.
He almost saw me, but no, it’s night…and I am the same color as that dark sky. Leather breaths, it’s easy to run around in. Which would atone for the jacket, pants and boots that were designed to be easier to run in, with a good grip on the bottom. And before you ask, no…I’m not a ninja.
I see him, and the sheath on my belt buckle feels heavier in my hand, which travels up to hold onto the double hilt. The biker helmet I wear to cover my face is starting to feel hot, and I swear to god it better not fog up like last time. Jumping down onto the fire escape I vault myself over the railing and stare at him from behind. My looks are enough to disguise me as a lanky boy; five foot six isn’t too short for a boy…so it works.
I pause and survey my surroundings, hands drawings out the two blades with ease, moving in quick, metal connecting with flesh, and being done with it as soon as it’s started. I slide the blades back into the hilts with ease I’ll deal with the blood later, and turn leaving no trace of ever having been there. When the authorities arrive the next day I will receive a check in my P.O. box, looking like a letter from grandma, but being far more…valuable in some senses. Holding a check worth more than what some people made in a month.
It took me a bit to remember where I had hid my motorcycle, I was good at hiding things…apparently sometimes from myself as well. As I mounted the bike, and got the keys into the ignition I grinned behind the black of the mask, hidden from the world.
Aren’t you happy I showed you now? How many of you would have stayed if I said I made a living by Shishkebabing civilians?

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