Young Writers Society

In the far off land of Sangiuinem, blood and untimely death were rare sights indeed. Murder was considered an art, only performed by highly skilled individuals belonging to one of many organizations. One such organization employed three assassins, each with their own unique past and vivid, differing personalities. For all time, the organization kept a certain nobility for performing such hideous tasks. Unbeknownst to our three assassins, times were a' changing, and any nobility would soon be washed away in the deep desert sands.

The three assassins sweated like pigs under their white masks and thick black hoodies, their attire meticulously designed to conceal their identities. “Why in the world are you driving so slow?” Selene, the lone female of the trio asked from the backseat. “This road is completely empty. The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can go home.”

The three had their disagreements on almost everything, but they all felt it had been one long, hot day. “Yes, let’s go faster and draw attention to ourselves,” Michel, the driver said, his dark skin a pink red under his clothes. “We’ll just tell the police that we’re celebrating Halloween in the middle of July.”

“Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, waaaaaaaaah,” Bishop, the oldest of the three by far said. “I’ve murdered hookers, doctors, farmers, lawyers, a boxer, five singers and even an astronaut, but none of the people I’ve killed have ever been as big of crybabies as the two of you. Maybe we should ask our target if they have a bottle! Ehm, who was his name again?”

“Guy’s name is a Kyle Christiansen,” Selene said. “The boss said it should be our biggest test yet, but looking at the notes, I don’t see why. There are no dogs or security cameras or anything like that. Just a man living alone in the shack up the hill from here. Did you get an age on him, Michel?”

“No, I asked Bishop to do it,” Michel said, making a sharp turn to continue up the hill.

“Yeah, yeah, lazy-good-for-nothin’,” Bishop said. “He’s sixty-years-old.”

“Another youngin’ compared to you, grandpa,” Michel said, pulling into the driveway of a old white house, looking as if it’s better days had already passed. “Who’s gonna kill the guy? The rest of us can just stay in the car.”

“I already had to kill the other three today,” Bishop complained. “And I don’t appreciate you calling me old.”

“Guess I’ll save you from having to remember the last time you ever killed someone, Michel,” Selene said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Be back in a few minutes. It’s not required that we clean up the body this time, right?”

“I don’t know, you have the papers,” Michel said.

Selene scoffed, grasping for the thin packet. “Like it’s easy to read in this stupid mask. …Yeah, don’t have to hide the body. Be right back.”

***

Better get this over with, Selene thought to herself. For some others in her line of work, they found assassination jobs to be enjoyable. She found those people disgusting. She had killed enough to the point where it didn’t really bother her anymore, but the thrill of the art wasn’t at all what attracted to her. She had no other choice – no other job gave her the money she needed so desperately.

Her hand trembled as she knocked on the door three times. She wasn’t so used to knocking and entering. There was a reason her nickname was the Queen of Shadows; sneaking was her domain. Nobody was better than her at the art of stealth. Stories said she once took an entire army of men without anyone knowing she was ever present. It wasn't exactly as simple as the stories always put it, though. Compared to that mess, she figured this would be a cakewalk.

The old wooden door slowly creaked open. She looked up, and then looked down, her eyes gazing upon a small curly-haired child. You look just like Jeremy, she thought to herself, referring to her own five-year-old son. 

“Yay! Halloween costume! Can I wear one?” the boy said, his blue eyes sparkling with amazement at the woman’s attire.

A kid? Urgh! Bishop, that idiot! Tasking that moron with garnering information was the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard! Unless…no. No way. “W-what’s your name, kid?”

“I’m Kyle Christiansen,” the boy politely said.

“Screw that!” Selene said, ripping the mask off her face and beaming it to the ground. “Get inside.”

“Ok.”

She’d done some nasty things, but never in her worst of dreams had she done something so despicably rotten. She stepped inside regardless; the nightmare was coming true.

***

The inside of the home was as tiny as the outside; crumbling walls with peeling white paint, a set of stairs with a worn-out stairwell and then two doors. One room lead to the kitchen, the other one lead to a cramped living room with a television and a sofa.

“Where are your parents, kid?”

“N-not here,” Kyle said as the two walked into the living room. “I’m all by myself here.”

“Sit on the sofa.”

“W-wait, who are you?”

“I’m a…” Gotta come up with something, Selene thought. “…worker from the orphanage.”

“Why are you dressed so funny?”

“B-because, its dress up day down there. Wait on the couch, please.”

“Ok!” Kyle said, plopping down on the worn-out sofa.

***

Selene hurried out of the home, scooped her mask up off the ground, and paced back to the car. “Selene, are you crazy? Taking off your mask?” Michel asked.

“I’m not doing this killing,” Selene said, defeat in her voice.

Michel laughed. “What’s that? Chickening out?”

“Oh, like you have any right to be talking about chickening out!” Selene said. “You’re the king of chickening out for all the killings you’ve made me do!”

“I killed that woman last week! Remember? The bank teller?”

“You shot her when she was already dead, you idiot!”

“Will you two just stop!” Bishop shouted, unbuckling his seat belt. “You just want old Bishop here to handle every single killing we get, don’t you, now? I’ll take care of it. Sit tight, you little babies. I’ve never backed out of a killing before, I don’t plan to now.”

“Wait! Maybe we should let this one go,” Selene said.

“Are you crazy?” Bishop asked, slamming the car door shut behind him. “They don’t call me Old Ironman for nothing!”

***

They really didn’t call him Old Ironman for nothing. Bishop was a legend amongst assassins. He conducted his first kill at the ripe young age of thirteen. Forty years in the business, over three-hundred murders to his name and never was there a job he hadn’t completed.

When Ol' Bishop draws your name, you'd best already dialing the funeral home, the old saying went.

But the task ahead of him was of a nature he never had to do. He ferociously opened the front door with a gray pistol in his right hand, sweating profusely under his heavy jacket. “Who’s in here?” he asked, peaking into the kitchen but seeing no faces. He then went into the living room and raised his gun in the air. He cocked the firearm as a small child looked at him.

He looks like Marty, Bishop thought, referring to a long lost grandson dead for decades.

“Is that a toy?” the boy asked, jumping from the couch with a happy look in his eyes. “Can I play with it? I’ve never had a toy gun before!”

“W-where are your parents?”

“Oh. T-they were killed,” Kyle said with a whimper in his voice. “I’m all alone here. I get lonely. Sometimes. Y-you wanna play a game or something? My daddy said he was going to play catch with me but he never came back.”

The gun twitched in Bishop’s hands for several moments. After a long wait, he sighed and lowered the weapon. “Wait here. I’ll go get the ball,” he said.

***

Bishop ducked out of the house, hurrying to the car. “Nope. We’re not doing this,” he said.

“Hah! What happened to Old Ironman?” Michel joked, stepping out of the car. “Gone soft over the years? Give me your pistol. I’m tired of Selene mocking me for not killing anyone lately. Time to get my hands dirty.”

“This isn’t dirt anyone will be getting on their hands,” Selene said. “This is poison. The boss has lost his mind this time.”

“That’s sissy talk!” Michel said. “Why don’t you two come and watch the master at work?”

***

“He’s not serious,” Michel said, his mouth wide open underneath his mask. “That’s just a child!”

“Yep,” Selene said.

“What’s not serious?” Kyle asked, putting his tiny finger up to his chin.

“The code of our organization tells of three targets that are never acceptable,” Michel said.

“No going after the sick,” Bishop said.

“No going after other assassins,” Selene said.

“And no going after children,” the trio said unison.

“But a job is a job,” Michel said, starting off towards the kitchen. “I’ll go see if we have any sleeping pills in the cabinet or anything.”

“We kill people for a living,” Selene said. “It’s not like God is going to welcome us into Heaven with open arms. But everyone has to have their limits, right?”

“…” Bishop stared out into the distance, quiet as a mouse, lost in a deep, sad memory.

“Don’t tell me that story is true, old man,” Selene said. “Your grandson?”

“It is true. And it’s still my biggest regret,” Bishop said. “What kind of monster kills his own grandson?”

“What are you guys talking about?” Kyle asked. “Are you like, pretending to be bad guys? Can I be a bad guy too? Grr…! I’m the big bad monster! Hear me roar! Rooooar!”

“We aren’t monsters,” Selene said. "At least, maybe it didn't start that way."

“I found these,” Michel said, his mask now over his head, revealing his cornrows, dark skin and big brown eyes. In his hand was a small pill canister.

“Anxiety medicine, huh?” Selene said. “It’d be easier than shooting the little guy.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I’d be able to watch him die anyway,” Michel said.

“What in the world is wrong with you two?” Bishop said. “You’re talking about what the easiest way to murder children? There is no easy way! There’s nothing you can do on this earth that’s more awful than killing a child!”

“The old man is right. I’m no saint, but I have standards,” Selene said. “Screw the boss. Let’s get out of here.”

“We can’t just leave the kid here,” Michel said, dropping the can of pills onto the ground. “To the orphanage!”

Selene scooped Kyle off the ground taking the light youngster into her arms. “W-where are we going?” he asked.

“We’re going to take you somewhere you’ll be safe," Selene said, silently enjoying the child's warmth as he clutched onto her jacket. "You might even be able to find a new home to live in."

“Someone to play catch with!” Bishop added.

“Would you like that?” Michel asked.

Kyle smiled. “T-that would be awesome!”

The trio of assassins would leave Kyle Christiansen at a nearby orphanage, where it would take him only days for a loving priest to adopt him into her home. While little Kyle received a happy ending, for the trio of assassins, the ending was yet to be determined. For in their organization, refusing a kill was the ultimate sin.

To be continued…

A.N.: This is just something I wrote in one in one sitting when I was bored. I really like the "Everyone has standards" trope. I had fun writing it, so I hope you had fun reading it. If not, sorry I wasted your time :(

Edits:

9/14/15:

Murder was considered an art, only performed by highly skilled individuals belonging to one of many organizations. ->

Murder was considered an art, only performed by highly skilled individuals belonging to elusive organizations.

I also changed the title and area to "Sanguinem", latin for blood.