Chapter 1: I Was Once An Assassin

I'm Jean, a twenty eight year old and I work at an organization. My colleagues at work see me as this distant and ignorant guy.

I was an assassin when I was younger. I had killed up to ten people. Everytime I kill I feel as though something changes in me making me no longer human. When I see the damage I cause on the family of this people it makes me depressed. I don't like to carry a knife anymore cause it reminds me of some murders I've committed.

I've been hired to kill some employers by their jealous or angry employees. Killing has greatly changed me and sometimes I think of the murders and always ask why'd I do this. I feel sick when I think of what I've done and I really regret all of them.

I could still remember my first solo mission. It happened when I was fifteen years old. My guardian was the one who trained me. He took me from the streets when I was a little boy. He was also an assassin. He told me he killed bad people that made our world unsafe.

I remember the target was an old politician of about sixty or so. She was one of the corrupt politician in office that made life hard for the poor. In the midnight around eleven I was in her room on the third floor of her mansion. I walked closer to her bed my gun in my hand, my finger on the trigger ready to pull at any moment. I arrived at her bed, her head out of her blanket. Her face was pale and wrinkly, and her long hair was let loose.

I reluctantly pulled the trigger and with a shot her snoring stopped. The bullet made its way through her blanket and into her chest. Blood came out of the wound like a fountain and as I looked at her I felt a little sad. I swiftly made my escape out of her house.

The next day, the news of her death were all over. Efforts were made to find the killer, but they couldn't find me though. Soon everything died down and the case forgotten. But I couldn't still forget it.

I don't know why, but a few years later I took on another job. This time a man was angry at his boss so he called for my services. That day was a cold winter month, dressed in my winter clothing. I infiltrated his home.

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Before this I had watched him for two days. He was a single middle aged man, with a beard. He was fit and had a bald patch. He lives alone and usually returned home by nine pm.

After he had taken a shower and gotten dressed, the man went to the kitchen cooked up a meal and ate. He then sat in his living room watching television. Once he fell asleep, I saw my opportunity. I walked into the room, my gun in my hand pointed at the man's head. I thought once again whether I should really do this.

While I was lost in thoughts, the man had woken up he looked at me with fear in his eyes. 

       " Please don't kill me." He cried.

I looked at him, shut my eyes close and shot him. His crying stopped his body and hand fell back unto the bed, he was dead. I managed to escape.

I was depressed and full of regret for days. I killed more people in other to ease the feeling I felt but it made me worse. I ended up quitting entirely and buried it all in my past.

It was a past I wish I could forget but it still hunts me. It's been eleven years now but I still remember each of them so vividly.

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