Untitled

I

I was sitting around in a dimly lit, apartment room. My desk is set in front of the front door on the 3rd story of my apartment. On the left , there is a clear window shedding moonlight from the outside. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for someone to come in and give me something to do. I light up a cigar. A cheap one. It felt like forcing shit down my lungs. I guess cheap cigars and my life are very similar. There's a brightly lit monitor on my desk, just surfing the web with a slow connection. Takes 2 minutes to load a damn page. I hear footsteps from beyond the door. Finally. The door slowly creaks it's way open, a skinny, mousy-looking guy comes in, in a suit, wearing those stupid big wire-frame glasses.
He looks around the room with a nervous face put on. He takes a moment, staring at me, like a deer in headlights. “Uh, is this, uh, Mr. Sloan?” He asks with a quiver to his tone.
“You're speaking to him.”
“I, uh, read your, uh, ad.”
“I see.”
“Uh, and, well, can you do business with, uh, this one guy? He's been kind of, uh...uh...”
“I see.”
“Uh, so, yea, what do you want?”
“A mansion, 41k, and a chance to be born again in a suburb.”
“Uh, uh...”
He stares at me in a petrified, and this time, confused.
“You don't get it do you?”
“Uh, no.”
“Yea, uh, sure, the office is at 1445 Central Ave. OK then see ya tomorrow!”
He slams down a picture, and then proceeds to walk out the door, faster than me running from my mom. Which is fast. I take a good long look at the picture, which is the indication that this man is my target. He had sleek, black hair. His smile in the picture says he's confident, yet also a prick. This guy is probably giving this pussy a scare, apparently just by talking to this pussy makes him so scared, that the pussy might as well kill everyone.
After thinking about that, I get out my friends from my drawer. First, we have Wallace, my Colt 1991DA, my oldest friend, he's helped me out on so many occasions, Wallace is probably my best friend. Second, is called Silence, my piano wire for a good surprise, I don't really use him as much, I think he hates me for neglecting him, I try to talk, to communicate with him, try to work things out with him, but he doesn’t respond. Last but not least, Bloody Mary, my vector butcher's knife for close quarters, she's a beauty,. Everyone is now all cleaned up and ready to go out. I put on a trench coat, put all my friends into the compartment my coat has.
I walk out the door, turn the side to occupied. I then climb down the stairs, and go into the magical, yet twisted, world of Gothoria City. I only go out when there's a thing to do. Like this special occasion right now, for example. I find myself walking around the dirtiness this city has to offer and the shine of the neon colors that fill the darkness in the night.
This city is shit. It really is. This is probably the most horrible place in the U.S.A. Other than Detroit, which is worse than this thing people can call a city. There are _ types of people in this bottomless pit, gang bangers, prostitutes that get fucked by gang bangers, and people who aimlessly wander. I think that's me.
There are 3 gangs in this city. One of them were a bunch of rebellious Japanese immigrants during the after the WWII era, call themselves the Red Lotus. Second, are a bunch of Italian immigrants, who call themselves The Demoni. The last one
What I was doing right now, was trying to find a taxi. Which aren't that hard to find. I do a taxi whistle. Then a cab pulls up. I get in the grimy, soot-filled backseat. “Where ya headed?” asked my driver. “1445 Central Avenue.” I answer.
I'm just looking out the window at this point. I see a business man looking guy, in a cheap suit, who is obviously being mugged by some thug in a gray hoodie. He had a box-cutter at the other guy's side. The two of them are struggling. It then goes sour when the victim is lying on the floor, maybe dead, maybe unconscious. Then as we're driving, we come to a short stop. This shit again.
“That'll be $30”
“That was a eight minute drive, I'm not paying you thirty.”
“Well you better before I kick your ass, so give me my $30.”
“I. won't.” I growled with my teeth pressed.
I could see the driver's hand start to move. Probably wanted my money at gunpoint. Quickly, I grab Silence out from my coat. I wrap the wire around his neck. Then I pulled back. It took around a minute for him to die. I enjoyed watching his struggle. Trying to pull the wire away. His legs moving erratically. I especially liked the part were he was gagging, and his face turning blue. After what felt like such a long time, he died. It felt as if a great anger had swept away after that.
I unfastened the former driver's seat-belt, and dragged him to the backseat. I then changed to the driver's position. I then looked out the window, there was a medium sized building, with a sign that read, Westerly’s Financial Help, at the entrance there are concrete stairs. Well, since we stopped at our destination, I waited.
Still sitting here waiting. Waiting to kill someone. Waiting to kill this person's dreams, or dreams he already accomplished. Waiting to attempt kill another person's dreams, one close to them. Why do I even care? That's a good question. My answer, everyone has hopes and dreams, so why bother asking? You people probably want to know about my dreams, don't you? So you can see my character develop, if it will change, or remain static just the way it is.
Look at me going off subject. The question was, do you have any dreams? I don't have any, but if I did, my dream would be to have a dream to follow. I don't know what that is though. Everyday I wonder what it could be. One time I had a dream, but it was crushed by one little, small, stupid, fucking injury. It's amazing what little, trivial, things can screw you over in big, seismic, ways.
Eight minutes pass and he's still not here. To pass time I look at the driver. It was dark before, but just now I noticed a large, bloody gap in his neck, with the red water running down his shirt, staining it. I didn't know I pulled that hard.
I look back at the entrance of the office building, and I see the confident smile walking out. Slowly, I then move my car towards his direction, the way to the target is blocked by parked cars, but I could see a opening. Once he got close enough, I slammed my foot on the gas pedal, going 60mph. Right at that moment I learned a lesson. It's to wear your goddamn seat-belt. I hit in-between the cars, thinking it was a good enough opening. Right when I hit it, I go unintentionally bursting through the windshield, flying right over the awe-filled smile, while landing hard on the concrete stairs, I then see the smile run towards me and helpfully asks “Whoa man, are you okay? Oh man we gotta...”
I respond with violently hugging his neck, his face is in a combination of surprise and fear. He's trying so hard to get off on-top of me, but the grip is too hard. Until he knees me in my balls. “Fuuuuck.” I exclaim. He then runs away. At that point, I then concentrate on my target instead of the pain. Then I quickly get up. Then I quickly fall back down. Damn it, I dislocated my leg. So I locate it back in., followed by the sounds, snap, crackle, and pop.
I got up again and started running in his direction. I get to the bottom of the stairs, then see the facial expression symbolizing happiness and peace, turn into one of fear, running down the long, dimly lit sidewalk, he was around 3 yards away. I get out Wallace, my favorite friend. I then start firing at the man in fear, while running, I missed every shot. That was mainly two factors, one was that I was running and could barely aim down the sights, second was a tremor in my hand that I don't like talking about. When firing these shots, I could hear him screaming in surprise, not pain. That just made me angry.
He turns right towards a gas station, running through rows of gas pumps. I start shooting at gas pumps near him. Instead of exploding, like I thought, gas just spews all over him, including his eyes, I think. It makes him drop to the ground, wiping his gasoline-stained eyes with his gasoline-stained hands. Great display of common sense, buddy. He gets up. I start shooting while running towards him, all I hit are windows of a cheap, sleazy, gas station. Target is almost blinded, slows his pace by a significant amount, while staggering to what he thinks is safety inside. He makes it in. I run towards my destination and jump through the remains of a broken window. While jumping, I have quick thought. He's covered in gasoline. Heh. Heh. If I had more time, I would have a evil, sadistic, grin.
I land and I see him staggering towards the back door. I aim down my sights on his legs. Hit both of them, which results in blood spraying out of them. He falls flat on his forgotten smile. He's just barely able to turn his body to me. While taking a quick breath, I take a good look at his face, his eyes were looking agitated, yet he was staring at me in terror. I put Wallace back. Leaving me empty handed.
“Wh-y-y?” He whispers in a grisly, frightened, tone. “Sorry, I have some bad news for you.” I respond. First, I take out my Zippo Lighter, and let the flame emerge. Secondly, I take out a cheap little cigar from my coat, light it, and put it in my mouth. Thirdly, instead of closing it, I toss the lighter at a face of pure fear. While screaming, he ignites like a burning fuse on a stick of dynamite. I take the cigar out of my mouth, blow smoke. I then say out loud.“You're Fired.”
I look back at the station itself, since I didn't have time to do so before. There's just one person at the counter. One scared, pathetic, little person behind a counter. Behind him is a computer monitor, with security camera footage of a enraged, dirty, looking man, with messy, brown, hair, staring at a scared, little, pathetic person behind a counter. I take out Wallace. I open fire on the computer monitor, and the man behind the counter. I find the security camera itself and turn it into little pieces, and shards of metal. I then find myself running away from the future crime scene.
I find myself calmly walking on the side-walk. That assignment had some bit challenge to it, I have to admit. That was also a good one-liner though. Heh. You're Fired. That was a damn good one. I love one-liners, they're my favorite kind of comedy. It is one of the hardest kind though. I like to do a one-liner with every target I kill. Then again, I guess it isn't exactly that I like to. It's that I have to. If I don't, I feel like something bad will happen to me if I don't do a one-liner. I feel as if someone will hunt me down if I don't do the one-liner after my targets are killed. What if someone will? What if someone won't? This whole discussion is just horrifying to me. Let's keep walking.
Along the way I see a semi-clad woman. The kind of women I hate. As I walk by her, she puts her filthy fucking hands on me. “Hey there, you wann...” She didn't get to finish her sentence, Bloody Mary wanted a word with the whore. When I mean a word, I mean decapitation. Her head rolled all the way to the middle of the road, her neck was gushing blood like the grimy fountain that gushed “water” at Fraider's Park. Whatever, I see blood everyday. I didn't feel a damn thing about her. I only killed a woman with failed dreams, now she's resting in a nice little blanket of blood, she had a low chance of going anywhere anytime soon. Then again, look's who's talking. Heh.