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Unnamed Assassin Story; Whatever
Topic Started: Mar 29 2008, 05:06 PM (271 Views)
Trippy Skippin Tomato
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TOTALLY SEXY GAMER DEMON GOLFER
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Prologue

From the Personal Journal of Thomas Harville, M.D. Dated January 14th, 1962.

All manner of religions are built upon lies.

The Bible, the Torah, the Koran; all are fabrications of the overactive imagination of man to explain mysteries of the universe which he cannot hope to fathom. In truth, man is incapable of fully understanding the reality of his existence; so it is for those of us who have been chosen to guide them along the path to righteousness. It is for this reason that I have been instructed by He to write this text; which I shall simply call “The Truth”.

In the past, those books of lies have passed on their message to the blind masses through parable and though their intention was corrupt their method was overwhelmingly successful. Not so ignorant as to blindly refuse the method of my enemies, I have decided to take this course of action myself and explain to you the wonders of He through stories of my own dealings with him and through my own life experience in meting out his justice and holy word. I shall write it as a journal of sorts, an autobiography of my perfect example lived in his greatness and wonder.

He brings the light of truth from beyond all perception. Allow me to be as a prism that interprets His pure, shining light into the common colors of understanding.


-----

Chapter 1

From the Personal Journal of Thomas Harville, M.D. Dated September 9th, 2012.

Please understand. The man had to die. He told me that the man’s election as President of the United States was imminent and that if he were to come into that position, he would cause too much order. You see, mankind cannot exist with too much order. In fact, it is impossible for this world to exist in order; for it is against the very laws of nature! Nature itself is chaotic, and only governed by those rule of chaos passed down my Him. There are no allegiances, no countries, no boundaries; only the chaos of free will and survival of the fittest. That is the way mankind was meant to exist, law and order are an abomination that must be erased from the earth.

That is all I am doing, when I have them kill men like this. I am following His will, His way. The world cannot have too much order. And that is why the man was put to death.


-------

In the Eyes of a Youth: The Death of a Senator

Senator Gerald Wilcox entered the large glass doors of the Middleton city mall like a war hero returning to his loving family. Greeted by cheers and jubilations from nearly every person in the tri-county area, he was a local boy who was about to (those gathered hoped) become President of the United States. He was a shoe in for the position; he had the hair and stature of a leader, and he could make a decision or two to boot. I watched the proceedings from right behind the purple velvet rope that separated his red carpet entrance from the gathered throng. I guess you can never be too careful, even among people you grew up with. I had never met the Senator personally, but it was all I could do today to want to get up and just shake the man’s hand, or better yet get a hug from him. For an eight year old in this town, this was big stuff.

His entourage following exactly five steps behind him was intimidating, to say the least. Large, powerful men and women in pristine black suits, each with earbuds keeping them in touch with various invisible security teams around the perimeter. In the back of my mind, I imagined an arsenal of weaponry hiding beneath their coats, ready to be pulled free at the slightest provocation. I wondered if there were any of them that wanted something to “go down” as they say. You can’t get into that line of work without having an itchy trigger finger, can you? Whatever, it doesn’t matter. They’re not important. That’s why they look so dull and stoic. This event is about the Senator, not his guards. That’s why everyone’s here today, and that’s why I’m here today.

He walked down the carpeted isle, talking to old friends, kissing infants and shaking as many hands as he could. A few times he saw children he recognized and picked them up over his head while they giggled and pretended to fly. Most politicians do these kinds of things for photo ops, to impress the voters and sell their platform. Not Senator Wilcox though; he genuinely loved the people of America, and the people of this area in particular. All of us, even me. Even little old me in the plain cream colored dress and woefully broken-in shoes, the very image of a poor girl raised on a farm.

It took some time, but he finally got down to where I was standing. I put on the silliest, photographer’s “Say cheese and fuzzy pickles” grin I could muster, and held my arms out; hoping, NEEDING to not miss this once-in-a-lifetime chance. He shook the gnarled hand of the older gentleman next to me, and then looked directly at me, right into my eyes. I could literally feel the warmth and kindness in his eyes and he peered down at me, little plain me. He leaned in close with his arms held wide open, readying himself to give the greatest, most powerful and loving hug he had likely ever mustered for the plain, pathetic looking child in the drab old dress. His body was only inches away…



There was a flash of steel and a loud crack as my knife slammed against the Senator’s ribcage, shattering bone and diving deep into his heart. The Senator’s perfectly pressed blue suit turned the same dark violet as the velvet rope that separated us, as the red of life mixed into the fibers. He coughed violently, like an opera tenor with bad cold, and sprayed flecks of blood onto my face. I suppose I should have foreseen a problem like this, what with the method I chose. Next time I’ll have to be ready for that. I pulled the knife from his bleeding body and hid it in my dress as I brought an arm up to my face, both to wipe away the blood specks and to hide my face from the surrounding crowd. I was small enough and the crowd was packed tightly enough that that was all the disguise I needed to escape. I scrambled under legs and pushed through gathered bodies, wiping blood on as many surfaces as I could so as to get it off of me. Nobody looked in my direction at all, most hadn’t even noticed that anything had yet happened, and those that did were either beginning to panic and press the crowd backwards or duck and cover thinking a gunman or something was loose. Nobody would suspect the little girl in the plain dress and worn-out shoes. Especially not in this panic.

I finally broke from the back of the crowd, and made a beeline towards the food court, where I would execute the next part of my plan. I still held my arm over my face, just in case there was still some blood left on it; people looking in my direction would see nothing more than a girl who had perhaps tripped and given herself a nosebleed. Just to make sure there would be no suspicions, I slipped a dropper of fake tears out of my sleeve and turned on the waterworks. Illusion complete. I turned a corner and saw the large white sign with the man and woman stick figures on it, and knew that I would soon be in the clear. Slipping into the door with the little red woman painted on it, I was glad to see that nobody was in the restroom. Everyone was down at the other end of the mall today, no time for a meal long enough for bathroom breaks.

At the end of the row of doors, I opened the one for the large handicapped stall and found my backpack still sitting all by its lonesome on the back of the closed lid. Everything was moving along smoothly. Locking the door, I opened the pack and took out my change of clothes, my favorite red shirt, denim overalls, and my old but loved sneakers I had gotten from brother James. Quickly sliding off my girly dress, I was finally able to unbuckle the rough military-style knife belt that had been digging into my chest all morning. It felt good to finally get the thing off, if only for a few moments. Even after training to wear it for years, it still dug into my flesh uncomfortably when I moved too much, and I could see the red marks across my scrawny chest from past cuts and rashes from the thing. I didn’t have much time to spare, so I quickly refastened the belt and cleaned the blood off the knife with my now balled up dress. I slipped on the new clothing, stuffed my hair under a baseball cap, donned my oh-so-much more comfortable sneakers, stuffed all my old gear into the backback, slung it over my shoulder, and crept out of the ladies room.

Lucky for me, nobody saw me exit the bathroom, but even if they had seen me and questioned why a boy was coming out of the women’s room, I had a perfect excuse. “Well, you see, my mother always brings me into the bathroom with her, so I just assumed…”. It never failed, or so I had been told. In any case, the point was moot, as this section of the mall was now almost completely barren, and the handful of remaining people either didn’t notice me or didn’t care. Word had probably spread here already about the Senator’s death, and that was the first thing on everybody’s mind. The security team had likely blockaded all exits on that half of the mall, but it looked like they hadn’t gotten this exit. And in any case, they were looking for a little girl, not a little boy, and the fact that I wasn’t a girl should certainly help in that case. I was in the clear. And if they wanted to look in my backback…well, I had ways of dealing with that situation as well. Hefting my backpack and thumbing my nose for good luck, I walked over to the glass doors leading out to the parking lot, and was on my way home.



Oh, and by the way. My name is Saul. I’m an assassin.
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Trippy Skippin Tomato
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TOTALLY SEXY GAMER DEMON GOLFER
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Chapter 2

From the Personal Journal of Thomas Harville, M.D. Dated June 12th, 1968.

Children are innocent. Children are pure. Children are our future.

In the entire history of mankind, a lie as big as these has never been perpetrated so deeply and thoroughly. People cling to the hope that there is some sense of ‘purity’ in the youth, particularly in their own offspring. But this is not so. In fact, it is quite the opposite, which is what makes them such ready followers for His word and His teachings. Children have no innate moral structure; they only have what animal instincts are imprinted upon them at their birth. Anything else is the product of their environment, the particular culture they grew up in. Teach a child that sitting still and being quiet is “good” and they will learn to do it. If left to their own devices, children will mutilate small animals and mercilessly inflict pain upon others, because it is in their nature to do so.

In fact, children are one of the most chaotic forces in nature, and thereby a most perfect example of His ideal society.



In the Eyes of Chris: A Child Flees the Scene

I hate going to the mall. Especially this mall, because there are a lot of bad memories for me here. This is the mall where I used to buy coke from Carlos. Where…WE used to buy coke. Oh fuck, why do I have to remind myself of that? It’s in the past and it needs to stay in the past. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. Playing in the sun as a girl. Jumping in puddles in the rain. Cute puppy dogs.

Ahh. That’s a little better.

Anyway, I have to go to this mall in particular, because it’s the only place in town you can find a Target Department Store, and Target’s the only place that sells the sheets I like. The single set I own got caught in the fucking washing machine, and now it’s in shreds in my wastebasket. Everything in my house is breaking, right on schedule now that most of their warranties are running out. Fuck, nothing ever goes right. Not in my life.

I park my car way down at the far end of the lot. It’s fucking packed, even for a Saturday. What the fuck are all these people going to the mall for? Don’t they have better things to do? Oh wait, that’s right; that thing was today. That thing about that rich boy in the senate or whatever. I couldn’t care less, I don’t vote for any of those fools, they’re all talk and no action. Never going to do anything for me but tax me, so fuck ‘em I say. And now he’s here at this mall inconveniencing me by bringing all these idiots to gawk at him, and making me walk all this way to the door, just so I can buy my fucking sheets. What a life.

It takes me about 5 minutes to reach the large glass doors of the Food Court entrance, but in my angry haze it feels like an hour. I really don’t want to be here, not today. Too much shit going on, too many people, and too many memories; and I’m sure there’s going to be cops around. I know most of them, and they know me, and we all hate each other pretty much the same. Just what I want to deal with today. Fun.

As I reach for the handle to pull open the door, it bursts open and some scrawny brat in overalls and a baseball cap speeds out and slams right into me, his head digging strait into my breastbone, knocking the wind out of me and sending me to the ground. He tumbles too, right on top of me. His hat flies off as he falls, and a bunch of long, curly, blonde hair tumbles out in all directions. Was it a boy? I used to have hair styled like that when I was a little girl. Who the fuck knows anymore.

The kid quickly regains his composure and bounces to his feet. My head’s still spinning and I’m trying to catch my breath. I want to yell at her to be more fucking careful and watch where she’s going, but as I look up I find I can’t say a word. The little girl has a knife in her hand, pointed at me. Little bitch couldn’t have been more than eight or nine years old, and she fucking had a knife pointed at my throat. I have a sudden flashback to a certain night in college but it’s gone before I can really remember it; if it’s the memory I think it was I’m glad I don’t remember it. The kid’s shoving the knife in my direction, making faint little stabs in the air. She’s hesitating. In the silence, I can faintly hear what I think are words.

“Gotta...kill….no witnesses…can’t leave…who is…kill…no witnesses.” She kept repeating the lines over and over like some kind of crazy mantra, but she made no attempts towards me. Careful not to move a muscle lest this little girl freak out and stab at me reflexively, I manage to take a breath and talk very slowly, barely getting the words out of my mouth without stumbling.

“Hey…hey kid. No worries, nobody’s hurt here. Put…you can put that thing away, yeah? I’m not…not going to hurt you. Let’s just go off, and just forget it, ok? I won’t tell anyone about anything if you…just put that thing down and leave, ok?”

The girl didn’t budge an inch; she just stood there with her knife pointed towards me, her eyes looking me over like I was some kind of animal up for sale. I realized that this wasn’t going to end quickly or well for either of us, this creepy girl was obviously intent on doing bodily harm to me eventually, so I decided to be proactive and take action. I’m not exactly the strongest woman around, but as much as I hated to admit it with my background I could take a scrawny little kid like this no problem. I waited until I saw the little girl gulp and blink, and I made my move; I reached up and grabbed at the knife, attempting to take it for myself or at least knock it out of her hands.

Now, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life up to this point it’s that children are supposed to be pretty weak compared to adults. Little girls especially, and skinny twigs of little girls even moreso. Which is why it came to me as such a surprise that, when I clutched her miniature hands in my own, that I could not wrench them open for anything. With a knife in my face and my death imminent, my adrenaline pumping like a fire hose on full blast, I found that I could only barely begin to pull apart her fingers from her grip on the knife. And with that, the fight was all but lost. In a panic, the girl brought the knife down, luckily missing my torso but wrenching her blade a good four or five inches into my right thigh. Collapsing back to the ground in pain, I managed to kick out with my good leg and knocked her back on her ass before the pain really hit and I began clutching at my leg howling in pain.



I’m not really one to ever thank the police, but that day I couldn’t have been happier that they showed up exactly when they did. Sirens blared behind me as the black and whites careened down the road towards the mall, the cars separating towards each the mall’s many exits. My vision was blurry from the pain in my leg and my breath was coming in gasps, but I managed to spit out a threatening “Now you’re going to get it you bitch!” before looking up to see that absolutely nobody was standing near me. The little girl had disappeared completely, hat, overalls and all. I hadn’t noticed because the pain was so intense already, but she had even managed to wrench the knife out of my leg and take that too. But it didn’t matter; the little bitches’ face was burned in my memory.

As I clutched my hands over gaping wound in my flesh and listened to the sounds of a car and siren pulling up behind me, as I heard the car door slamming and an Officer I think I recognized calling for an ambulance, I did everything in my power to keep her face in my mind, remembering every little feature of her smooth girlish features.



“I’m going to find you bitch…Yeah, I’m going to get you back for this, you little fuck. Just you wait. I don’t let this shit fly anymore. Not…anymore.”



I guess I’m a bit of a vengeful bitch, yeah. But you know
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Trippy Skippin Tomato
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TOTALLY SEXY GAMER DEMON GOLFER
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Chapter 3

From the Personal Journal of Thomas Harville, M.D. Dated August 19th, 2012.

I do not enjoy the task I have been given. No, it is not a thing to be enjoyed. It is duty that calls me to perform the acts that I do. I train the children to kill because I must, because He commands it. So too, do I kill them by my own hand because He commands it.

Though my efforts are valiant to keep the boys in my care under control, there are simply too many influences in this world to keep them from. I teach and teach them His ways and His laws, but once they reach the age of sixteen, they no longer listen. I suppose it is a natural feeling for mankind, to want to move out and be on one’s own. Animals in nature must at some point leave the safety of their parent’s home to strike off on their own, and so too must every boy feel the desire to become his own man. However, with the world the way it is now, full of so many troublesome laws and governments, there is no safe place for my children but against my own bosom in His light.

I do not enjoy killing them. But in the end, it is for their own good. They cannot survive without me. They cannot survive without Him. And to this end, once I cannot control them and keep them safe any longer, I must pass them along into his arms.


-------

In the Eyes of Matthew: The Death of Himself

“What do you want now, Father?”

I looked up from my desk where I had been carefully assembling smoke grenades to look into the deep green eyes of my father, who was standing over me, watching.

“Matthew, my son” he began, in that slow and preachy tone he always had, completely ignoring my sarcastic inflection. “I need you to come with me for a moment. I have something I need you to do.”

I sighed heavily, wanting to get back to assembling my favorite weapon ever. “Can’t you just ask brother James or brother Isaac to do it for you? I’m kinda busy here.”

“No, Matthew. It is something only you can do.”

Dammit, he probably needed me to catch a rat or something that got into the storehouse. While it was true that I was the only one who could really move around well enough in there to catch pests, and it really wasn’t that hard to do; I just really didn’t want to be bothered today. I still had to sharpen all my throwing knives and fill up my belt pouch with my new bombs. If he expected me to actually be ready for a mission, he had to give me some time to prepare. But whatever, there really wasn’t anything I could say to change his mind. He’d just launch into another of his time-honored rants about “His will” and “His way” and all that and I’d give in and end up doing it anyway. Best to make it short and sweet so I can just get it over with.

“Alright, Father. What is it?”

“Simply follow me, Matthew. All shall become clear to you when we reach our destination.”

Wonderful, a secret. Is he trying to be cute? I’m not going to get all excited and think it’s something special, like a lot of the younger boys do. He’s not going to get that twisted satisfaction from me. I set down my powder jars and carefully placed the half-finished bomb I was working on down on the desk, and stood up to follow him. As soon as I was on my feet, he turned on his heels and left the cramped room that housed me and brother David, the only other boy in the facility that was almost my age. Looking up at the lonely clock on the barren wall, I noticed that it was already 3 AM. I guess that was why he needed me; I was probably the only one still up at this hour. I briefly wondered why Father was even still up at this hour, but paid it no heed as I stepped out the door, closing it softly behind me. Brother David needed his sleep; his missions were a lot tougher on his body than mine were.

Walking past a row of similar wooden doors, each housing a handful of boys in similar situations to my own, I couldn’t help but wonder what it was exactly that father wanted me to do this late at night. The hour made it even more likely that it wasn’t a rat problem. My mind raced as I walked down more dark halls, past the several small gymnasiums and classrooms Father had set up for us. It was all so completely unusual.

“Well, whatever. It’s not important.” I mumbled to myself as I decided to make use of the trip through the halls to practice some of my unique talents. Having been born double-jointed and spent most of my life learning and practicing acrobatics and contortionism, most of what I did at this point was child’s play, but it was always important to practice the basics so that you don’t screw up when it counts. I did some simple joint popping and loosening as I walked, just this and that to keep myself entertained mostly. Father, only a few feet ahead, either didn’t notice or didn’t care what I did while we walked, so I started making obscene gestures at his back. At one point he almost turned his head, but it was a false alarm. I knew he could see me, but pretending that he couldn’t made it all the more fun.

After a few minutes of walking in the darkness, we reached what I recognized as the side exit of the building. He wanted me to go outside? Why the hell didn’t he tell me? He’s not blind, he knew I was only wearing my boxers and a tee-shirt, he could have at least warned me so I could put on some shoes or something.

“Wait, Father. I didn’t know you wanted me to go outside. Let me go get some shoes…” He cut me off mid-sentence. “You won’t need them, child. Just come with me.”

Screw that! ‘I won’t need them’ my ass! It had been raining all day, and there wasn’t any pavement out there. For sure the whole place was a sea of mud; I mean, I don’t mind getting dirty or anything, but I’d already taken a shower tonight and didn’t want to have to wash up again before going to sleep. What does he think I am, a machine? He had already opened the door and was motioning for me to exit with him.

“Oh come on, Father. I’ll just be a second. It’s all muddy, and I already…” He cut me off again, this time with a loud clearing of his throat and a look in his eyes that said “I will not hesitate to drag you out here, boy”. I decided it was better to just do what he said and not argue the point further, so out I stepped into the muddy earth with my bare feet.

I have to admit, it was kind of a funny feeling for the mud to squeeze in between my toes like it did. It was nice and cool and felt good after having been cooped up in the warm building all day. I couldn’t really enjoy it though, since Father had already started marching across the lawns towards the garage.

“Father, what do we need to do out in the garage at this hour? Some emergency raking?” I added the last bit with a sly smile plastered on my face. Something about the mud in my toes was sparking a silly streak in me, I guess.

“No. Matthew, I need some help in my personal study.” Had he just said he needed help in his personal study? That was a forbidden area for everyone, even Father rarely entered it. Of course we had tried to sneak in a few times when our curiosity overcame us but even in our youthful exuberance we’d never been able to manage it. We had found a small crack in the woodwork that let us see a little sliver of the inside room, but all we could see was some kind of strange machine. Perhaps it had broken and he needed me to get inside and fix it? He continued “You’re the oldest, so I feel I can trust you to be in there with me, and not tell anyone what you see. I require your help with something. You’ll see when we get there.”

I couldn’t believe it. I almost stopped dead in my tracks. Father really wanted ME to go to his personal study and help him with something! I suddenly didn’t feel so annoyed at being dragged into the mud in the middle of the night. This could be an exciting experience. Of course, it could also be something terribly mundane; in what years I’ve lived I’ve noticed that a lot of things that fascinate us as very small children aren’t really all that miraculous in the end. The first time Father showed me how a smoke grenade worked, I thought it was magic, a gift from god. But when he broke down all the scientific rules and showed me how to make them myself, and I grew accustomed to it, it stopped being magical. Still fun to throw around, but definitely not magical. It had been a few years since I had snuck a peek into Father’s study and I wondered if being allowed back there would kill the magic of that place too.

Father walked in silence, almost solemn. As I listened to my feet squelching in the mud, I wondered if maybe he was reluctant to bring me out here. Father almost never did anything without being totally sure of himself, because everything he did was guided by The Bearer of the Light. But this time…I don’t know. He just didn’t seem too happy about it.

We reached the garage and Father took out a ring of keys he had tied to his belt, and opened the splintery wooden door. One of the windows had been smashed out by a rock thrown by one of the younger boys, and we had never bothered to replace it. You could actually unlock the door from the outside through the broken window, but Father always dutifully locked it every time. I guess old habits are hard to break, as they say. I wiped my feet as best I could on the little straw mat by the door, to little avail. Stepping off, the granite floor of the garage felt especially cold now that my bare feet were caked in cool mud, and I imagined someone would be cleaning up the muddy footprints later in the day. In fact, it would probably be me. Father moved silently around the old Buick he had for trips into town, shifted aside some boxes that had been unceremoniously dumped in front of the door to his study, and took out the key ring once again. Digging through the mess of keys, he located the one he wanted and plugged it into the huge padlock that kept the door closed. Letting the large metal thing drop to the ground, he turned to me.

“Matthew, save your Father the effort and open this for me, please.”
I nodded and walked over, gripping the large steel handle of the door. I braced myself, and with a grunt I yanked the door open with all my might. As I turned to look at Father for approval, I noticed that he had donned a small plastic mask that covered his nose and mouth, like one might wear to go scuba diving. It was then that my eyes started drooping a little, and the world went fuzzy. My knees buckled under the weight of my torso, and I collapsed to the ground in a heap.



They say you can’t feel anything when you’re drugged. They also say you can’t feel anything when you die. They’re wrong. You most certainly can feel things when you’re drugged, and you most certainly can feel it when you die. It hurts, a lot. I don’t really know what happened, because I couldn’t open my eyes, but I can still remember what I could feel in those last moments of life. My shirt and boxers being cut off my prone body. My back freezing against some kind of cold metal table. My stomach being cut open, my guts being ripped out. Did you know that the brain keeps running for a little while, even after the rest of the body has stopped? And did you know that the ears can hear long after all the other body functions have shut down?

Can you imagine hearing your own heart beating right next to your head?

I’ll remember it always.
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