Assassin and Cannibal

In the light of the gloomy sun, when summer's heat burns like a volcano bursting out its liquid fire, endlessly I stroll this deemed “unsavable” planet, with my blistering feet caked with bitter, fifthly sand, trying to forget the very memory that has brought me out here. I have wandered this stretch of sand dunes, confused and shaken, not knowing where I will fall down and be forgotten from the memories this world, buried in the very sand of which is determined to engulf my body. I have lost all hope of living, lost all hope of why I should stay on this crumbling planet. They say losing someone close to your heart, someone who knows everything about you and understands what you are thinking, is worse than losing yourself.

My village was massacred, slaughtered like pigs riddled with disease. They were raided by cannibalists, those who brought this world to their knees, and those who we fear and hide from. The cannibalists were once human, then infected with a disease that would only make them crave to the warm, rare flesh of a human being. Nobody knows where it started, but I spread like a tsunami flooding out an entire city. While they raided, all I could do is hide behind a rusted pole as I saw my friends being eaten alive while their warm blood sprayed across the entire room. Then I saw Bethany, my one true friend, being dismembered and  by four of those things. While her blood making a pool around here useless body, she looked at me with her cold, dead eyes. She had something in her eyes, something that would stick to my infinite memory. She had the sight of betrayal, of how her greatest friend had sat down and watched her being torn limb by limb..

Now I am stuck, going through what seems to be the same path across the same open space. I could have roamed this land for eternity, reliving the same cowardly mistake again and again in my head, trying to find a way that I could have helped. Guilt is what’s driving me, and guilt would have been my death. Then he came for thin hair, standing in my path. He was wearing a black robe, with a hood covering his face. He is one that gave my meaningless life purpose again, the one that could teach me to take revenge on what happened to my village and end my endless guilt. He stared at me, looking me over, seeing my now frail body, and says, “What is your purpose in life, boy?”

I glared at him, as though the question was crazy. I seemed crazy, but it was a normally asked question at my village. You would hunt, gather, or stay in the isolated village and clean it up. That was your purpose, which seemed to be redundant now because everybody died. It should be an easy question to answer, but I could not find one that my mouth would open to. After giving it some thought, I came up with and answer and replied, “My purpose left when my village was massacred.”

He seemed to see the hint of guilt in my eyes and replied, “I could give you a purpose again, a reason to live. It will be a hard life, with death being your best friend. You could take revenge on whatever slaughtered your village. You could use your guilt to your advantage.”

The offer intrigued me. That maybe there is still hope to live. I pondered on what I would do to those things that slaughtered my village, my friends, and my family. But what will I do? What is it that he wants me to be that I could use my guilt to my advantage. So I asked him, “What is it you want me to become.”

He said, plain and simple, “I want to make you an assassin.”