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was supposed to be, the gun enveloped itself in his hand; its metal tentacles dug under his skin and controlled his fingers. As a child, he had been trained to command the strings of a violin, but they found their purpose when they pulled the trigger. Even after thirty years, he could still feel the gun’s weight in his palm. When he shot the bodyguard of a mafia leader, he felt the child inside him die the moment the body hit the floor. It was frightening, but at the same time immensely powerful; like he alone could change the world and make it obey him.

He was an assassin, a hit man, the garbage man of the underworld. He was not the perfectly built, impeccably dressed, Victoria’s angel fucking, Aston Martin driving, BBC speaking gentleman that silly boys romanticize to be. He was a nameless, faceless, ruthless machine, perfectly honed to kill. He was a silent reaper with an unmarked weapon; the black ghost everyone refused to acknowledge.

He saw the headlights of a police car. He stopped and took a long sigh. He didn't fear death. He'd seen so much injustice and cruelty in his time that he no longer believed in judgment. His life had been made up of blood and money, a world of perpetual running, constant uncertainty and never-ending bullets. He had seen and heard it all. Life had no more tricks with which to entice him.

The lights blinded him, as the car stopped.

Showtime, he thought and put the gun to the side of his head.

“Put the gun down, son!” yelled an old cop, a shotgun trembling in his hand.

“I did this; all this. I’m the madman. You’re welcome!” shouted the assassin.

“I said, put the gun down.”

“Or what? You’ll shoot me? That would be a bit redundant. I’m going to be the one to see myself out.”

Before he could do anything, his left leg was punctured by the cold surface of the first shot.

“God dammit. Did you really have to go for the good leg, you old bastard!” he screamed as he fell to the ground. Now he was on the other end of a bullet.

He heard rushed steps coming closer.

I guess this is it, he thought as he raised the gun to his temple.

After all this time, I’ve learned one thing. There is no glory in killing, he thought as he pulled the trigger.

 

BANG!

Imprint

Text: Lucia Morosanu
Images: godspard.tumblr.com
Editing: Lucia Morosanu
Publication Date: 11-01-2012

All Rights Reserved

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