Fallacious Beginnings
Malcolm stood, hunched in the merciless wind. Yet again, he had killed. Yet again, he feels the pain of losing one's kin. But he can't stop, not when he's started, its like a rollercoaster ride gone wild. Pain they inflicted on him, he shall inflict on them. The pain he endured when he saw his family dying by his eyes, the pain he felt when the bullet buried itself deep into his tender flesh. It was all years back then. They failed to kill him. Now was his turn for vengeance.
Malcolm didn't feel the euphoria of repaying the blood-debt. What he felt didn't make Malcolm feel as great as he thought he would feel. Instead, he felt pain. He wept inside for those he had killed. But that was all necessary. He had hunted down, and slew his murderer's offsprings, every single one of them. The only debt left to be settled, was with Jared.
Malcolm remembered the day he'd first gotten his automatic pistol, after passing his firearms test. It felt familiar, the gun. It felt as if the gun was meant to be in his palm. It transformed him into a killing machine. Then, he sought for the identities of his family's murderers. And vowed to hunt them down, even their descendants.
Turning back to the task at hand, Malcolm headed into the master bedroom. The old man was lying feebly on the bed. Malcolm cocked the safety off his pistol. In a few seconds, all would be over...
"Boom!" the bullet ricocheted off the wall, making only a crack in the wall. "Don't touch my dad!" The words reverberated within the walls of Malcolm's mind. His shot had misfired thanks to the timely leap of a young boy. Though small in stature, Malcolm recognised the sense of purpose in his eyes as the boy sought to protect his family. Instantly, he remembered the time so long ago, when he did the same. "Don't kill my dad!" the boy repeated, this time, pleading. The words shocked Malcolm. So long ago, he'd said the same words. So long ago, they were ignored.
Nevertheless, he was startled by the reverie of time long past. "Tell me, boy, how old are you?", Malcolm said, turning toward the boy.
"...Seven, but i'll act like... like... a seventy if you touch a hair of my dad!", the boy's cheeks instantly flushed when he realized his slip of tongue. He'd not been pleased at showing disarray in front of his enemy.
"Alright...," the atmosphere was too much like that of his childhood. Malcolm could not bear to continue his senseless massacre. 'Senseless, hah, a massacre I never thought senseless, till now. Too late to bring back the dead, but early to stay my hand,' he thought. Turning toward the door, Malcolm said,"Go to your dad, tell him the feud ends here."
As Malcolm edged towards the door, he wondered how he did not know of another son of Jared. Suddenly, a shot rang in the air. Malcolm clasped his stomach. "Dad taught me to kill whoever stands in my way. You tried to kill dad. You shall die." Malcolm shook his head. 'No, that is not Jared's biological son. That, is an abomination.' he thought. The boy couldn't recognise Malcolm, but Malcolm could now. It was all in the files. Cloning assassins. Malcolm knew now why he did not die. He was not meant to die. He was made to hate, to test his killing capacity. He'd passed the test. He was no longer needed. Now was the time of his demise. He could be easily replaced, the boy behind him proved so. The once-feeble Jared came striding out of the room. Hatred filled Malcolm yet again.
As the wisps of his conciousness seeped into the nether planes, Malcolm pushed a tiny trigger. He had everything prepared. He always did. And if he was to go down, they all should go down with him. A blast erupted from within the backpack Malcolm carried, ripped him asunder, along with the rest of the house. Once sturdy columns became twisted rubble. As the smoke cleared, a phantasmal voice whispered to the wind,"Go to hell bastard, you deserved this."
Malcolm didn't feel the euphoria of repaying the blood-debt. What he felt didn't make Malcolm feel as great as he thought he would feel. Instead, he felt pain. He wept inside for those he had killed. But that was all necessary. He had hunted down, and slew his murderer's offsprings, every single one of them. The only debt left to be settled, was with Jared.
Malcolm remembered the day he'd first gotten his automatic pistol, after passing his firearms test. It felt familiar, the gun. It felt as if the gun was meant to be in his palm. It transformed him into a killing machine. Then, he sought for the identities of his family's murderers. And vowed to hunt them down, even their descendants.
Turning back to the task at hand, Malcolm headed into the master bedroom. The old man was lying feebly on the bed. Malcolm cocked the safety off his pistol. In a few seconds, all would be over...
"Boom!" the bullet ricocheted off the wall, making only a crack in the wall. "Don't touch my dad!" The words reverberated within the walls of Malcolm's mind. His shot had misfired thanks to the timely leap of a young boy. Though small in stature, Malcolm recognised the sense of purpose in his eyes as the boy sought to protect his family. Instantly, he remembered the time so long ago, when he did the same. "Don't kill my dad!" the boy repeated, this time, pleading. The words shocked Malcolm. So long ago, he'd said the same words. So long ago, they were ignored.
Nevertheless, he was startled by the reverie of time long past. "Tell me, boy, how old are you?", Malcolm said, turning toward the boy.
"...Seven, but i'll act like... like... a seventy if you touch a hair of my dad!", the boy's cheeks instantly flushed when he realized his slip of tongue. He'd not been pleased at showing disarray in front of his enemy.
"Alright...," the atmosphere was too much like that of his childhood. Malcolm could not bear to continue his senseless massacre. 'Senseless, hah, a massacre I never thought senseless, till now. Too late to bring back the dead, but early to stay my hand,' he thought. Turning toward the door, Malcolm said,"Go to your dad, tell him the feud ends here."
As Malcolm edged towards the door, he wondered how he did not know of another son of Jared. Suddenly, a shot rang in the air. Malcolm clasped his stomach. "Dad taught me to kill whoever stands in my way. You tried to kill dad. You shall die." Malcolm shook his head. 'No, that is not Jared's biological son. That, is an abomination.' he thought. The boy couldn't recognise Malcolm, but Malcolm could now. It was all in the files. Cloning assassins. Malcolm knew now why he did not die. He was not meant to die. He was made to hate, to test his killing capacity. He'd passed the test. He was no longer needed. Now was the time of his demise. He could be easily replaced, the boy behind him proved so. The once-feeble Jared came striding out of the room. Hatred filled Malcolm yet again.
As the wisps of his conciousness seeped into the nether planes, Malcolm pushed a tiny trigger. He had everything prepared. He always did. And if he was to go down, they all should go down with him. A blast erupted from within the backpack Malcolm carried, ripped him asunder, along with the rest of the house. Once sturdy columns became twisted rubble. As the smoke cleared, a phantasmal voice whispered to the wind,"Go to hell bastard, you deserved this."
posted by Windez at 9:15 PM
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