I remember some pretty horrific times during training. People with weaker minds simply don’t make it. I felt slightly remorseful about them not making it. I certainly had my fair share of hardships. I felt myself sink into daydream.
“I’ve told you that you killing them is much more important than the target living.” The instructor assassin scolded me. His stony glare bore into my 10 year old mind. I stared back wide eyed. His stare did not let up. He tossed me a wooden sword from a small group leaned up against the stone wall. I caught it, and snapped into a ready position. My eyes scanned the room and the instructor for any advantages I’d have. He disappeared. I tensed, and looked around frantically. A wooden blade hit the side of my head with a loud thunk. I winced and involuntarily put my hand up to feel for any injury. The wooden blade made another appearance, this time hitting my hand with a crack. I grit my teeth, but let out a yelp. A cold iron blade was at my throat. “Dead.” The instructors voice said in monotone. I looked at my hand. It was bloodied, but I don’t think they cared. I reacted fast. My short ten year old legs kicked the instructor where it’d hurt, then my hands grabbed the wooden practice sword. I brought it down with a loud crack.
Sleep is a place of dreams and nightmares. I don’t mind my nightmares, but sometimes they get to me.
_I felt like I was being dragged. I opened my eyes, and saw my parents being dragged too. I screamed.
“No! Not this again!” I managed before a sick feeling caught me. A vile taste infected my tongue, and I wrinkled my nose in disgust. I struggled against the people holding me, and unsheathed my dagger. I kicked the man’s legs from under him. He fell with a loud thud. The people dragging my parents turned around. I quickly lifted the man on the ground’s head and slit his throat. A disgusting grey liquid came out. Revolted I backed up, and stabbed the man behind me.
He blocked with his sword. I rolled under the slash that he aimed for my head. The dust from the cracks of the cobble stone road welled up by our dodging, shuffling and attacking. I stabbed him in the throat and let his body fall into the murky water. The other man ran. I pulled my knife from it’s sheath and threw it, hitting the man in the neck. I walked towards my parents, who were standing by the water looking at the waves.
“Mom. Dad. You ok?” I asked worriedly. Their silence was long.
“You were too late S’mar.” My father said in a deep,quiet whisper using his nickname for me.
“Huh?” I said surprised at the response. I crouched down beside him, watching his and my mother’s feet float in the water. My mother turned to me. I screamed, and got to my feet, drawing my dagger.
Her hair hung in wet clumps, her face was hollow and moldy. Her eyes were missing, eaten by fish. My father’s face turned to me, his face in a similar state. Their skeletal hands grabbed me with inhuman speed. My mother grabbed my dagger, and my father grabbed me, dragging me to the water and throwing me onto the cobblestone ground. I kicked, but it felt like kicking some sticks. My father did not even wince.
“You shouldn’t play with knives S’mar. You might cut yourself.” My mother said in a dry vicious tone, one that in reality I’d never hear out of her.
“It’s time to sleep S’mar.” My father said in a menacing tone, then forced my head underwater. I held my breath before he’d done it, and found fear soon choking me in my throat.
“Mmmmm! Mmmm!” I screamed, struggling as I felt breath leave my lungs, air going to the surface in large bubbles, and water entering my lungs. I tried to cough it up, but only more entered. I felt weakened, drained of energy. I felt the rest of me hit the water. I sunk for a little, unable to comprehend what had happened, then tried to swim. No matter how far I swan, the setting sun got farther and farther.
“Wake up idjeet!” Someone yelled in the far corners of what remained of my conciseness.
I woke up to a very angry Vincent.
“You fucking idjeet!” He screamed, returning to a strange accent had faded, but thickened when he was angered.
“I was asleep. What did I do?” I asked, rubbing my eyes to try to erase what my mind had spun in sleep.
“You kept fucking screaming and writhing.” He said in annoyance. I sighed in apology.
“Sorry. It was a nightmare.” I yawned, and got up.
“Must be a real scary one if yer screaming so fuckin loud.” He scoffed his accent now thick. I shrugged.
“Ok, I’m sorry. It’s night anyway, so you have to wake up.” I reasoned. He rolled his eyes.
“Sorry I’m tired.” He apologized, his accent fading. I sighed in relief.
“Well, I’m starving I said, as I got up. He rolled his eyes, and curled up again. I sighed, and threw on my cloak, and walked out. I looked up at the bright moon in the midst of the inky sky. Tonight is rather uneventful.