This is a draft, so please point out punctuation and spelling errors if you come across them.
Subsequent to the foundation of the Irish Free State in 1921, a Civil War ensued- a brutal conflict that divided the population in half, brother against brother, father against son.
Dublin lay enveloped in darkness, the long June twighlight had faded into night. I meandered down Winetavern Street, a rifle in one hand, a bottle of Paddy in the other, the cold autumn wind biting my face, filling my mouth and crushing my lungs. It was late, probably after mid-night and I was alone, the milk-bottle moon, my only companion. Loneliness and ostracism were things I'd grown all too familiar with since the establishment of the Free State. My family, proud republicans, even supported it's foundation and my brother Joe joined the Free State Army. He begged me to join, to support a cause I didn't believe in. And when I didn't, he threatened to kill me, called me scum, and banished me from home. Confused and full of hate, I became a radical, killing guards, robbing banks and burning courthouses. Doing everything in my power to spite the treaty, but mostly to spite Joe, a man I once admired unconditionally.
Kill Sean deBuitleir. A prominent Free Stater no doubt. The message was scrawled on a blue piece of paper, the corner of a Constituition billet. I didn't know him, I didn't need to. I was simply a pawn, a rebel that they could call on when they needed a hitman. They gave me my instructions earliar that day accompanied by a picture of the man himself. He was in his mid-forties, stockily built and about average in height. They told me where to wait, when to shoot and where to hide once the deed was done. It was all rather informal and brief.
I was seventeen when I first loaded a gun, little more than a child. Joe often cursed having to put a gun in my hands at such an early age, but took me under his wing nonetheless. He taught me everything he knew about war, told me stories about Wolfe Tone, the United Irishmen, General Humbert and the 1798 Rebellion. We faught together, ate together and walked together, always side by side. Then times changed.
I climbed up a fireladder and onto the roof of an O'Connell Street shop, crouching low, making sure that my presence was unknown. Around the beleaguered Four Courts the heavy guns roared. Here and there through the city, machine-guns and rifles broke the silence of the night, spasmodically, like dogs barking on lone farms. I peered over the parapet, watching the sleeping street. Now all I had to do was wait.
LOOK OUT FOR PART II OF SINNE FIANNA FAIL