christian louboutin schuhe shop Mafia Child

Author's Note: I wrote this over two years ago for an image I drew... I looked back, liked the idea, and tweaked it a ton mbt calzado, and now it's being posted here.
Curse myself, for posting another morbid oneshot.
If I get enough requests, I'll make a sequel, though. Morbid and Death are my friends in the writing arena.

It was cold.
It was snowing.
It was night.
And Josh did not care. No, it was more that he did not notice, than that he did not care. Though he definitely did not care.
He was thinking about his current assignment. A certain Bogotá family was being troublesome and he was to execute them.
Nothing new.
He carried his gun, pried from his father's cold hands a year ago. He wore in his left ear the earring he salvaged from the bloody mess of his mother's face the same night. A year ago when everything changed.
Yes, he'd always been smart. Yes, he'd always been a tad mature for his age. So, he had always had a cold stare and biting sarcasm. But it was different now. He was not smart because he just was; he was smart because he had to be to survive in this world. He wasn't mature for his age, nine as of two minutes ago, midnight, because he liked to be. He was mature because it was the only way to be respected. He did not have a cold stare because he felt like making whoever was speaking to him shut up but because there was no other way to see things. His biting sarcasm was not for the sake of being sarcastic, but for the sake of being heard.
A year ago, as his mother was bending over him to give his forehead a kiss goodnight, a masked man crashed through the window. There was glass, shouts, confusion, then a sound, like thunder but shorter and higher of pitch and volume. The little boy in bed instinctively covered his ears, preparing for a second round. But there was a pregnant silence instead. Slowly, he opened one eye, then the other. Nothing.
Where had mother gone?
He propped himself up on his elbows and looked over the side of the bed. There, in a puddle of blood and other tissues, was his mother. He gagged at the sight, but choked back the bile rising in his throat. Silently, he slipped out of bed, careful not to slip in the pooling blood. Slowly, he knelt beside his mother and leaned over. Then he hesitated. Then, without letting himself think of it, he swooped down and kissed his mother, 'goodnight'. As he left, he slipped on something and it stuck in his foot Christian Louboutin Sandals, but he had not time to think of it, the thud had set off other sounds.
"What the f-"
Shouting erupted from another room, quickly disintegrating into mere cursing and the sound of feet shuffling on the wood floors of their house. The boy crawled to the door and peered around the corner into the hall. There was a shout, and then his father flew into the wall just feet away from the child. He withdrew into the room, then slowly peeked back out.
"Nathan-!"
There was that sound again, he flinched, and then his father went limp, a hand falling inches from the boy's already blood-spattered face. The boy was just staring, unsure what to do for this when footsteps, followed closely by a person, came.
"Pshat, you little brat-" he slurred. Nathan shrieked and leapt forward, landing with his hands clasped around the gun in his father's hand. Cold, he realized, as he pried it out of the man's hand. He flung the barrel in the direction of the man in black, who was also taking aim.
"No!" Nathan cried, pulling the trigger.
It was only a small handgun, but at the age of eight, the backfire knocked him onto his side.
It was two days before he would stop shaking. Two days before he unfurled his knees from his chest and began to crawl out of the doorway, between two dead men and one dead woman. Two days before his eyes stung so badly that he finally had to blink. Two days before he would pocket the gun and stumble out of the house, into the blinding snow and freezing cold. It would be five more days of walking along the empty highway before he would reach the nearest town and sit down to pull the obtrusive object in his foot. His mother's earring. And another day yet before he learned of the assassins identity and came into contact with the mafia, who had sent the wretched man.
He would be offered a position christian louboutin schuhe shop, and three weeks later receive an official ID and the name Josh. He would never trade out the handgun and soon had his ears pierced.
The anniversary of his parent's death, he was given this assignment. As he walked towards the objective mbt hommes, the snow falling so thick it was nearly blinding, he could not help but know that what happened to him was about to happen to the little Bogotá girl.
She was not on the list he had received.
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