A Short Story: “The Mark” Part 2

In case you haven’t read it yet, Part 1 of “The Mark” can be found here.

And now, without further ado, here is the harrowing conclusion of my 16-year-old self’s “The Mark.”

The Mark (Part 2)

Now the sniper is faced with a terrible decision. Should be bestow life upon the young creature that stands before him, or should be complete the task he came here to accomplish? His human side and his professional side collide in a struggle to obtain dominance of the sniper’s conscience. This is something he has never experienced before as a bringer of death: doubt. He doesn’t know what is right or wrong anymore and his morals are being tested to their limits. His companion offers its never changing advice and warms itself up in its bloodlust. His mark is now accompanied by a group of bodyguards who station themselves around the child. A black limo pulls up in from of the boy and opens its doors invitingly to him. The rain begins to subside slightly to give the sniper its approval to take this boy’s life. The sniper has made up his mind. He owes nothing to society and should not think of any of its members as human. He is surprised at his moment of weakness and reminds himself that he is a professional. Who is he to question the decision of his employers? That is not his job; to take the life of another is. He focuses his crosshairs on the boy’s head. Steady hands hold the rifle in place. The sniper can hear only the pattering of the rain on the windowpane and the blood pumping in his ears. He tightens his finger over the trigger and…

A shot shatters the stillness of the night. A figure falls lifelessly to the floor, his life force flowing freely from the small hold in his head. A black suitcase tumbles to the ground followed by one of the most faithful friends the world has ever known. A black trench coat turns crimson while a metal martyr clatters unceasingly on the ground. The gaping mouth of the carcass speaks chapters about the lonely body it has inhabited for thirty-three years. Below, at street level, a young boy inhales the cool night air and breathes it out slowly as his father comes out of the nightclub behind him. He looks at his father and smiles. He loves his father very much and admires him greatly. He is the splitting image of his father. They always go out wearing the same type of Chinese suit with the rose emblem his father loves so much. “You know, your mother loved roses, they were her favorite flowers”. His father told him this from time to time. His father walks over to him and apologizes for the delay. “It’s okay , Dad”, the little boy replies. They both walk into the limo with their guards still surrounding them. The black snake slithers away from the nightclub and down the street.

–Unfortunately (or fortunately?) I couldn’t find the last paragraph to the story. However, as I hate leaving something unfinished, I’ll try to provide what I remember.

On a rooftop nearby, another sniper puts his rifle back in his case. He smiles at the thought of the cool twenty million his mark has just given him.

And there you have it.

It felt odd going back and reading my old writing; it’s like a totally different person wrote this. But it does serve as a kind of affirmation that I do enjoy writing, and there was a time when I just wrote for the hell of it.

When I hit an inspirational dry spell, I’ll try to tap into this younger me and just have fun with whatever tip-taps off of my keyboard and onto the screen.

But for God’s sake, I’ll definitely come up with better metaphors and similes . . . 😛

If you have any early writing or, for my art friends, ART WORK (those would be awesome to see), please share it withe the rest of the blogosphere! I’d love to see how everyone’s style has developed over time.


5 comments on “A Short Story: “The Mark” Part 2

  1. This was very fun, thanks for sharing! I love assassin-themed stories, and this had a nice voice. Besides the repetition of the “he___” or “his___”, it was quite good, haha! I am unfortunately not as brave as you. Sometimes I do look back with nostalgia, other times I simply cringe at earlier work. My first story, however terrible it was, did build the foundation and establish some of the characters I later developed. We all need to start somewhere, that’s really the only way to move forward.

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