All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
Roman’s eye lids flew open revealing deep ocean blue retina’s. Rolling out of bed he hit the floor with a thud . After a minute of grumbling a body emerged from a tangle of blankets, and made its way over to a mirror that hung lopsided on the wall. “I look really tired” he told him self, and then he proceeded to make his way towards the kitchen presumably in search of some coffee.
With a large cup of coffee in one hand and a bagel in the other Roman strode down a flight of stairs simultaneously sipping his bitter coffee , in to a room that was ounce white. The room looked as if someone had taken pen and spent months of their life drawing intricate designs all over the walls overlapping and intertwining. Roman walked over to a clear glass door unbolted three bolts and then pushed back a mettle barrier. Roman Reached towards the door and flipped around a sine so that it read open. Roman owned this tattoo shop. Roman was the best, ruffians and members of gangs would come from across the seven seas to sit in the rough black chair in the center of the shop and get there own unique inscription.
Tattooing was only a hobby of Romans, in fact It barley paid enough to cover the rent on the small apartment above the shop. In the back of the room there was a small door with the same designs as the artistic walls. If you were to open this door it would reveal a garage. There were two four foot florescent lighting strips suspended from a cement ceiling buy thin metal chains, they gave the place a pale glow. With the exception of two cars, the room was barren. Roman had a masters degree in auto theft. Roman remembered his first car. At age thirteen his father had thought him to drive in a stolen ford pickup truck, since then Roman had moved his way up in a corporation that stole refurbished and resold cars.
Roman once figured that about half the cars in the city had been stolen and resold through there corporation at one point in time. The system was simple, A criminal steals a car and brings it to the garage on the outskirts of town where he haggles about the cars price. The value of the car is decided. One third the value of the car goes to the thief. Another third goes to painting the car and forging new plates. The final third goes to the boss. The boss is the man who started the system many years ago. Most people who met the boss were dead whiten the next week. It was common knowledge that the boss had a large price on his head. If you turned him in you were likely to be dead before you could spend the money. The boss was powerful and rich.
Roman went up stars to see if he could find some cream cheese for his bagel. From the first floor he heard the familiar “tinkle” of the bell on the front door. Going to the top of the stairs he exclaimed “I will be right down”. There was no answer. It was too quiet, something must be wrong. Roman quickly strode into his lounge and peeked out of a crack in his boarded up window. Four or five police cars were parked out front of his shop. He ran in to his arm chare were he had a shotgun resting on its arm. Roman paused for a hundredth of a second, Fight or flight? He pinched the gun at the stairwell in hope of buying another second. Roman ran to a window in his fare wall and jumped right through it, breaking in to a run across the flat roofs of his neighborhood. Thoughts were racing through his mind, “they will find the stolen cars and the unregistered gun”.
A well rounded athlete Roman easily cleared the small four foot gaps between rooftops. The end of the block came up very fast, he kicked open a door and flew down two stair cases and burst out in to an ally way. Roman darted right. All of the sudden a police car came to a screeching halt right at the end of the ally. “Freeze or I will shoot” barked the officer who pulled a gun simultaneously stepping out of the car. Slowly Roman saw defeat, raising his hands. Shortly after, reinforcements arrived and Roman was hand cuffed and escorted to a holding cell.
Several hours later a man in black suit wearing a black tie and dark shades opened Romans squeaky cell door. The men explained that they had enough evidence to lock him up for several years. Then they seed that if Roman provided evidence that led to the capture of the leader of the organized auto theft, then Roman would be set free without trial or record. “We give you one hour exclaimed the men and he left slamming the cell door, as it echoed roman rested his head in his hands and thought hard.
The man was true to his word, returning in one hour. “I want out of this prison, a one way plan ticket to Honolulu and a small house on the beach.” demanded Roman. Done snapped the shady man without a moments hesitation. For the next two hours Roman told the detective everything, including the location of the car garage. Roman rode in the back of a police car witch was part of a squad that busted the warehouse. After a long day the boss was locked up by means of numerous people being tortured until they ratted him out.
Later that night Roman was reclining in a chair on a first class flight to Honolulu. Roman was making plans for his new life. He would get a new job, And change his name. Nothing like a fresh start. A situation well handled he thought. He called the flight attendant for a new drink. The plain began to dip towards the runway of a city in a fair off land. Twenty minutes later Roman strode out of the doors at the airport, the early morning sun was warm and bright promising a deeper tan. Roman flagged down a taxi and gave the driver the address for his new beach house.
The roads were fairly empty and the yellow car soon pulled up at the end of a dirt road. Suitcase in hand roman rain through the warm sand up to the big oak door of his new home. He was told that a representative from the law organization would meet him hear to show him around the new place. He knocked on the door, the agency had not lied there was someone waiting just inside the door. Three shots echoed around the empty shore, this new character held a smoking gun in his right hand In a moment or two this will not mater to you, but thanks for the information sed the man.
Roman fell slowly on to his back in the sand, eyes blank an expression of shock lingering like a lost soul on his face . The killer unaffectionate dragged Roman by his feet in to the small cottage buy the sea, then the assassin reached in to his pocket sliding out a thin chrome phone. After a second he put the ear peace to his ear, “Tied up that loose end, I will catch the next flight back to headquarters.” He calmly reported to his employer. When the sun sank that evening there was a body bag weighed down and thrown in to the ocean about a mile off the coast.