Assassin for Hire: Interlude

June 2, 2011
By sandhawk3000 PLATINUM, Collinsville, Connecticut
sandhawk3000 PLATINUM, Collinsville, Connecticut
45 articles 1 photo 6 comments

I had a pretty decent, normal life growing up, asides from once incident.
There had been a car accident outside of my house when we were growing up, actually there were a lot of car accidents outside of my house. People just had to speed to their deaths right there didn’t they…some of them quite literally to their deaths, and the deaths of others.
There had been one car accident, when I was about six years old. My parents had warned me not to come outside; apparently somebody had crashed right through their own windshield, and got smashed up pretty badly on the pavement. My parents went to go and help out if they could, but we all knew it was too late.
I wasn’t even sure what death was yet, but I got out of bed, and walked right out the door.
I saw him…a bloody, and smashed up looking.
Any normal kid would have cried right, well I didn’t. The thing was, it didn’t exactly ring any doorbells of sympathy in my head.
It wasn’t that I was happy that the guy was dead; it was that I didn’t care. So, he was bleeding…he had felt pain, pain didn’t bother me either. There was something wrong with me, but I didn’t realize that eleven years ago, I was only a little kid.
That must have been the first time I really realized I didn’t care about people the way I should have, the way that society deemed right….correct, whatever.
Is it sick that I only really feel happy when I’m working? And you know what I mean by working. But if that’s what it takes to feel something, then so be it. Masochists claim the same thing when they hurt themselves, but the idea of doing anything bad to myself sickens me.
So I guess that makes me a Sadistic Sociopath, oh great…both of those sound wonderful, especially next to each other. My parents reminded me though, of those days when I was growing up, confused and scared to why I didn’t feel like everybody else.
And now they were here, to bring up all those feelings again. To steal away my freedom. I remember coming to New York City, because I had heard jobs were easier to get here.
But my parents were back to steal my freedom away again, can’t really kick *ss with a curfew now can you?

The author's comments:
A short piece, while I get the next part ready~

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