It’s midnight and I’m getting ready leave. The air is crisp as I carefully leave my house. The sky, a shade of midnight
blue is decorated with thousands of dancing stars above my head with the bright moon, almost full, slightly illuminating the ground. As I turn on the engine to my car, I pray that nobody in my
household wakes up. The last thing I need is a nagging mother asking me where I’m going.
My boss called me telling me that I have a job to do. The company chose me for this job because I am the last one
anyone ever suspects. Apparently, I’m too kind and gentle-hearted to commit such crimes. So far, it’s worked for them, so they stick with it. Sometimes I wish to leave and never come back, but
then they will kill me. It sucks, they don’t even pay me. The boss is full of threats and fear, but he doesn’t do anything! He just sits in his old reclining chair, smokes a cigar and tells his
minions what has to get done.
I’m a murderer or rather an assassin. My boss tells me who he wants dead and I get the job done. It’s very simple. The
bad part of it is . . . everyone he orders to kill, are innocent teens. I never understood why he wants them gone . . . but I can't question him. The worst part is that I can’t say no. I was
forced into this job two years ago. I still remember the first person I killed. Her name was Sydney and she was so beautiful. She looked like a model the way her black hair cascaded over her
shoulders and how her body gracefully glided in the hallways at her school. Apparently, her father was a cop who threatened to put an end to my boss’s ‘company’ and he didn’t like it. So he
ordered me to kill her as fast as I could. I remembered feeling petrified, numb at the thought of physically killing a person. At the time, I was only 15 and I had never, ever dreamed of
putting an end to someone’s life but somehow . . . I did. I remember pouring poison in her coffee when we hung out for the first time and I remembered how my heart pounded, sweat dripping down
my face. Seeing her seize and choke until she died. I had nightmares for months and I cried and cried . . . buy now . . . I’m numb to it. I’ve been desensitized to the act of murder. I have
been trained not to feel anything and to do it as quick as possible before forming any emotional or physical attachments.
The drive there was very silent. All the while I was
thinking about who he wants dead. My biggest fear . . . is that he’ll ask me to kill one of my friends. Going into the office, my heart pounds as he takes out a folder with information about
the person and I’m always afraid it’ll be one of my close friends. Asking questions … is out of the question. I always have to think three times about what I’m going to say because it
might offend him. Half of the time, I barely say anything at all just to avoid a confrontation.
I arrive at the quarters at exactly twelve twenty five. I have exactly fifteen minutes to make it there before I’m
late. I parked my car in the garage and take out my card. My card has my name, picture and information/job description. It’s my ticket in the building and if I lose it … I’m dead.
The place is an abandoned warehouse in the middle of the woods. Very appropriate to host meetings about murdering people.
It used to be a corporate building, but due to the unfinished road, the company moved and left this warehouse to rot.
As I entered, I showed the two guards at the door my card and they escorted me into my boss’s office. My boss is a chubby
short man with a wasted face and gray eyes. He’s supposed to be dead, but he’s in hiding. That’s why he’s here in this old abandoned warehouse in the middle of the woods.
“Zaq, you’re here early,” He said in his Irish accent. I stay composed but I’m laughing on the inside. He’s very
intimidating, but the second he says something, I can’t take him seriously.
“Yes sir, I figured the sooner I got here the better,”
I said casually careful about my expression and my tone.
“Indeed. I have a job for you,” He told me as he got
up and went to one of the filing cabinets behind his desk up against the wall. I sat in one of the chairs in front of his desk and my right leg began to shake. My palms began to sweat a little
and I became anxious. I looked around trying to ease the noise but it was no use.
“There’s a girl. Her uncle has caused me trouble. She
needs to disappear,” He said with an angry, yet calm voice.
“Alright,” I spoke with a confident sounding tone but on the inside, I’m screaming for help. He dropped a neat folder in
front of me and he plopped himself down on his chair.
“Her name is Dawn Leigh,” He enunciated her name with anger and I couldn’t help but wonder what her family has done to
get him this angry.
“That’s a pretty name,” I said softly as I opened up
the folder. I looked at her photo for a couple moments memorizing her features. She had medium long wavy brown hair that gently fell over her shoulders and a roundish face with flawless pale
skin. Her large brown eyes sparkled and complimented her beautiful smile.
“She’s a very pretty person. Inside and out,” He
smiled a cruel smile and I looked at all her information. From the paper work, she seemed like the perfect girl. She had no flaws, no record, nothing that would make anybody want to kill her.
She graduated middle school and she’s going to be a freshmen in high school next school year. I read the name of the high school and my heart sank. She’s going to the same school I am
“Yeah,” my voice was a whisper as I looked at her
picture once more.
“But remember, she needs to disappear. Make it fast Zaq,” He said lighting a cigar. I nodded in understanding and put the
folder back on the desk. Something feels different. I’ve never felt this way before when I received information on the victim. When I left the room, the air felt heavy and I found myself having
trouble breathing right. I know one thing for sure, I will never forget her picture.