Sometimes There Isn't Hope

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Action and Adventure  |  House: Booksie Classic

Basically, a girl had to deal with her father's enemies, who was an assassin.

A/N: There is a very morbid sense around this story and it might be considered gory by some... but I don't think it was rated "R" worthy.


By definition this means a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen, or maybe a person or thing that may help or save someone, or grounds for believing that something good may happen.

But that’s the technical term. What does “hope” really mean? To want something so bad, you can’t stand it? Maybe a glimmer of light, when there is darkness all around? A last chance for everything to be okay?

There is always hope – famous lesson from my Father. Another is to always be ready. These were the most repeated and the ones that you need the most to survive. He was always teaching me lessons that can help you survive. Sadly, you can’t always be following these lessons.

I walked into my small home, more of a shack really, and smelled something awful. It was the thick, sweet, metallic odor of blood. I immediately dropped my bag to the floor as silently as I could and pulled a small handgun from it.

I crept down the hallway, silent as the night, checking every room for an attacker before I moved on. My body was tense all over – ready to spring into action at any given all over. My ears strained to hear something, anything, which would give the intruder away.

I reached my Father’s small room, where the stench was at its worst. I opened the door, my body following my gun. I took in my surroundings, looking for movement. There was nothing different, only my father was lying on the bed with a bullet through his head and a note on his chest saying, “The daughter of this man is next.”

Isn’t almost odd how death can just sneak up on you? How when you think you understand your life and how it is progressing, death just turns everything upside down and changes everything. Death just comes out of the blue, snatches its victim, and leaves the scene. Leaving us no footprints to follow. No scent, no signs, there is nothing we can use to follow death’s victim to bring him back from that dark abyss. But some people would say that’s just life and we have to deal with it. But, till you have experienced the pain and hardship of a death, you can’t really relate or comment on death.

For a moment a wave of grief, confusion, and loss threatened to over whelm me. I swallowed hard and cleared my head. I wasn’t surprised, not really. I knew my father would eventually be killed for all of his hired murders. The question was, what to do now; my father was dead and his killer was coming after me as well.

\"Get a duffel bag from the closet,\" my Father’s voice sounded in my mind. \"Fill it with some clothes, lots of cash, guns, and knives. Then leave. Go somewhere nice. Maybe Cleveland. There is always hope to survive if you try.\"

I did what my father’s voice advised me to do, then I was out the door, leaving my home for the last time. I pulled the hood of my jacket over my head to keep out the cold New York rain, took one last look at my home and walked away.

When I reached the edge of my ghetto neighborhood, I didn’t look back; I had always wanted to leave that place. There were no regrets except for my father’s death when I headed for the train station.

“Hello, my name is Jared. How may I help you today,” inquired the ticket sales man. I looked over him with unreadable eyes. He was handsome with brown hair that turned into a golden halo in the light with laughing, flirtatious eyes. He was young, nineteen years old maximum, around six feet tall.

“One ticket to Cleveland please,” I replied.

“So what’s in Cleveland,” he asked. He wasn’t ringing up my ticket yet. He wanted to talk, to flirt. I sighed in disgust. The last thing I wanted to deal with right now was a teenage-boy’s hormones.

\"Be polite and patient. Don’t draw attention to yourself,\" whispered my Father’s voice.

“Nothing,” I replied. I gave him a smile. “Just a place where I can get away for a while.”

“Rough life at the moment,” he asked while giving me a stunning smile, which probably would have made most girls gain a huge crush on this guy. I however, just got more impatient and annoyed. I need to disappear as soon as I could and this boy was holding me up.

“Listen,” I hissed fiercely. “I need to go now. Please stop your pointless jabber and do your job. I need one ticket to Cleveland please.”

Sorry Dad I thought. I icily glared at him, all my frustration, grief, and anger put into it. My eyes that were like ice, cold and sharp, finally got the message over to him.

“One ticket to Cleveland,” he said with a slight crack in his voice.

“Now was that so hard,” I asked with a wolfish grin. I handed him the money. “Thanks, and keep the change.”

Then I was off into the crowd headed to my platform. For a moment I allowed myself to think and grieve a little for my father. In my thoughts, I didn’t notice the man with a cat-like grace following me. It was an armature mistake, one I shouldn’t have made.

I hopped on the train and some how found an empty car. I sat down with the bag beside me. Fifteen minuets later the train was moving and there was practically no one else in my car. I probably put my head back and closed my eyes for a minute before I felt the cool metal blade of a dagger press down on my neck, slightly drawing blood. I cursed myself before being so careless then looked up behind me into the face of the man who was following earlier. He grinned evilly and asked for my name.

\"Always be ready,\" whispered my Father’s voice a little late.

“Gretchen Weatherbee,” I lied while giving him my most innocent look. “My ask whom you might be? And if u don’t mind, kindly remove that knife from my throat before I’m forced to hurt you?”

For this, the knife was removed to be replaced with a hard punch my nose. It was a good I have to admit, one with a satisfying crunch when my nose broke. My eyes filled with spots for a split second. Blood flowed from my nose; some getting into my mouth making me want to puke at the taste.

Thankfully the blade was away from my neck now, which meant I could fight. The man was still behind me, so I spun around and punched him in the throat, making him gasp for air when his air way closed. I then hit the big muscle in his arm forcing him to drop the blade, which I drabbed up along with my bag.

There is a time to fight and a time to run. Now you run I imagined my Father saying.

I sprinted to the back of he car and raced through the train all the way to the ending car.

I went outside onto the type of porch coming off the train. I swung my duffle on to my back and climbed the ladder to the top of the train. I pulled out my handgun and stuck another one in the back of my pants and put a dagger in one of my boots. Then I stood up and waited.

I heard the slam of the train door close. Heavy breathing. Then he was climbing the ladder. I was over confident. I thought I had me. I was stupid, maybe cause I was a lost sixteen-year-old girl.

I heard a bang, and then pain blossomed in my thigh and it spread through my leg like a wildfire. I staggered and fell off the train into gravel that dug into my skin. My arm felt like it was getting sawed off and my head pounded in my ears.

\"Always assess the damage before you try to move,\" I heard my father telling me.

I forced my eyes open, gasping from the pain. My arm was cleanly broken in half, the bone protruding from my skin, my thigh had a bullet in it, my ankle sprained by the feel of it, and judging by the throbbing in my head, another gash there. I was soaked in blood, the stink filling my nostrils. I forced my self onto my side, threw up, and then wiped blood from my face with my good arm.

:Whenever you find yourself with injuries that are badly bleeding, bind the wounds with cloth to stop the blood flow,\" my Father’s voice sounded in my mind. I somehow managed to get my jacket off then tied it tightly around the bullet wound using my good arm, teeth, and leg. I nearly passed out.

\"Secondly, you must set any broken bones, no matter how disgusting or painful,\" I imagined him advising. I shut my eyes and pressed my bones back together. I heard some one scream in agony. Then I realized it was me.

\"Keep hope, your hope will help you survive,\" my Father’s words echoed in my head as I passed out.

I woke up to a constant annoying beeping. I felt warm slightly scratchy sheets all around me. The pain wasn’t as prominent. I opened my eyes and took in my surroundings.

I was in hospital room, with my arm in a cast, my head and stiff thigh bandaged. My head was pounding with an extreme headache. There was a woman in the room who saw I was awake.

“I see you finally woke up,” she said sweetly while smiling. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a bulldozer ran over me,” I answered with a shaky laugh. How in the world did I get here I thought.

“I’m sorry to say you have to have to wait another hour or so before you can take more medication,” she said. “Must have been horrible to fall a balcony on that train. And to have a tree branch to get thrust through your thigh? You are such an unlucky girl. Thank goodness that man found you and brought you in. He saved you life. I’ll go get him for you.”

With that she was gone. I leaned back and took some time for comfort. Then I heard someone come into my room and close the door. I looked up to see the face of my attacker from the train.

He grinned evilly and came over to my bed. Always be ready. I cursed my self for not following my Father’s words.

“Good to see your alive Samantha Kingston,” mocked the man. “You see, I want the pleasure of killing you utterly by my self. I am surprised a little that you survived that fall from the train.”

“I’m so very sorry, I can not talk to you,” I said sarcastically. “You see my Father always told me not to talk to strangers. Maybe if I knew your name and why your trying to kill me can help things.”

“My name is Alexander Dawson,” he replied grinning. “Your father was hired to killed everyone in my family, I survived. Now I’m back to return the favor. It’s only a pity I couldn’t have killed you before your father so he could suffer.”

I saw pain, grief, and possibly craziness in this man. Revenge corrupts even the greatest men my father had said once. He was right judging by the looks of this man.

He grew a dagger and pressed it to my throat. I panicked then. There was nothing I could do. Not in my condition with no weapons and his mouth pressed down on my mouth so I couldn’t make any sound.

This time there wasn’t any hope for me. I was going to die and for once my father was wrong; sometimes there isn’t hope.

\"If there ever comes a time when you know your time is up, look death straight in the eye and challenge him. Don’t go down without making even the slightest fight,\" I remembered my father saying long ago.

Alexander smiled maniacally and I grinned wolfishly back at him. My eyes challenged him to do it, but I showed also to him my innocence. If this man was to kill me, I wanted him to regret it.

I saw his eyes soften, and then he closed them. I could tell I put him through a dilemma. I was gaining back some hope; maybe he would let me go.

Then his eyes popped open looking wild and blood thirsty for revenge. With out a second thought he slit my throat and all was black, but peaceful.

Submitted: September 13, 2010

© Copyright 2022 Niepokonany. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



This wasn't bad. Very action packed, but the tone seemed sorta nonchalant

Sat, September 25th, 2010 10:20am


This wasn't bad. Very action packed, but the tone seemed sorta nonchalant

Sat, September 25th, 2010 10:20am


This wasn't bad. Very action packed, but the tone seemed sorta nonchalant

Sat, September 25th, 2010 10:21am



Sun, October 3rd, 2010 3:18pm

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