Assassin; a person that kills people for other people who gave them a contract to kill a certain person of importance. The first assassins started killing people around the year 1094 up until the year 1256. That’s one-hundred and sixty-two years for people that aren’t that good at math. Anyways, the first assassins became military fanatics. After a while, they killed people for contracts that people gave them. Now, one thousand years later, I’m one of them...
You might be wondering why I became an assassin in the first place. Well, let me explain... but first, we have to go back to where it all began. It all started here, on top of this building in the middle of New York. It’s a dark and gloomy night in the year 2094, but I don’t mind. It might be the future from when you are reading this, but it didn’t change that much. It looks more like it did in 1890 than it does in 2019. If you are reading this at the end of 2019, you’re going to be in for a surprise, a colossal, horrific, surprise. I’m not going to give anything away, but you better prepare yourself. You’re going to be in a for a nasty ride.
Anyways, See that girl running on the buildings and dodging obstacles like chimneys? That’s me. Oh, whoops. That was close. I almost fell off that building. Luckily, this isn’t my first attempt at doing this. This is just the most important time I have done it... even if I didn’t realize it at the moment. Before we get to the turning point in my less than decent life, let me introduce myself. My name is Kylie Hale. I won’t tell you what I physically look like, my eye color and such yet, but I will tell you that I am wearing my favorite purple hoodie and black sweatpants with white lines down the sides that wrap, slanted, around the front of my leg. I live in New York by myself. I used to live with my parents until they were killed in a bombing at a bank six months ago. I’ve been pretty depressed about that since it happened. That’s why I’m running on these buildings. I’m trying to tell myself that it’s not my fault. I’ve been thinking it is since I heard about it from the news. I’m doing parkour to escape from reality. Parkour is running on buildings and trying to find your way through obstacles as fast as possible for people who don’t know what it is. Parkour is like music to me. It helps me let go of my feelings and not keep them buried deep within my heart-shaped box.
Here we go, this is the part I wanted to show you. I’ll leave you for now so you can witness it yourself without someone narrating the whole journey for you. ‘Thud! Thud!’ ‘What is that coming from?’ I ask myself. I find the source of the noise in the alleyway below me.
I see four people in black hoodies hitting someone. I look around for a safe way to get down without them noticing me. I find a rope on the building I’m standing on by a chimney wall. I grab it and tie it around the chimney and tug on it to see if it will hold me. It doesn’t move so I throw the other end down the side of the building and firmly grasp it. I climb down the building as quietly as possible.
I know how to descend from buildings and mountains and stuff like that because my dad taught me how to ascend and descend from things when I was six. We used to go rock climbing a lot back then. I miss him.
Okay, focus, Kylie. Someone needs my help. I descend from the building and I notice there is construction to the right of where I am. “Hey! What are you beating that guy up for?” I call to the thugs.
They turn around. “Go back to your mommy, little girl.” The person, I assume is the leader, calls back.
The others snicker. “Leave him alone!”
“Or what?” He challenges.
“Or...or I’ll stop you.” I stutter, nervously.
“How do you think you’re going to do that?” He asks.
“By...by... hurting you.”
“Oh, please! Like you could.” He mocks, “get ’er boys,” he adds to his friends.
They grin and grab metal tubes.
They slowly advance on me. I back up, protectively.
Eventually, they get to me.
The first guy swings and I block it. ‘Ow! That hurt.’ I think as another guy hits my rib. I hit him in the nose, making him stagger. I kick the other one into him and they both fall. The last of the three people that attacked me hit me in the leg, making that knee give out. He is about to hit me again when I reflexively grab it, twist, and throw him to the left wall with surprising strength. ‘He’s not getting up for a while.’ I thought to myself with a little smile and chuckle.
I still have to worry about the two that I only stunned. I realize this when one of them punches me in the face when I’m turning to look at them. I fall onto the ground.
After a minute, I get up, turn around, and hit him in the face, breaking his nose. It knocks him out and then I turn to the last guy, who just swung his steel pipe at me. I grab the tube and, with another surprising adrenaline rush, I pull it out of his hand and whack him, making him dramatically freeze and fall backward, unconscious. The last guy saw me defeat his friends. He grabs the guy they were hurting and pulls out a knife. He puts it to the guy’s throat when he sees me walk forward. I stop walking.
“What are you, freak?” He asks, frightened.
“I’m just a ‘little girl’” I mock in his tone from before, “Now, if you don’t want to end up like your friends back there, I suggest you let go of that man.” I threaten.
To prove my point, when one of his men regain consciousness and I see them on a mirror that was placed behind the man in trying to save, I kick a rock at the wall to the left of me and it ricochets and hits the guy on the head, knocking him out again with a thunderous thud. Get it, thunderous thud? It’s a terrible joke? You try making a joke while watching an intense fight scene.
“Okay, okay. Just, please, don’t hurt me.” He begs, letting go of the man and running away.
I call the police and they arrest the others.
One of the police officers, who I find their name is Officer Kelly from their tag on their shirt walks up to me.
"Miss. Can I speak with you?" She asks.
"Su..re," I say, nervously.
We walk over to her car and she looks at me.
"The paramedics arrived and took the victim and the criminals to the hospital. I noticed that there is a rock that has blood on it. How did the person get a rock to the head?"
"Well, I kicked a rock at one of the criminals' heads. In my defense, they were trying to kill the victim. I don't know why they were, but I had to make sure he was ok."
"So, you were using self-defense?"
"Okay. Thank you for your honesty."
"That's all I wanted to ask."
When she leaves, I take a bus to the hospital that the paramedics said he would be at. I find the room the man is in and walk inside. The man, who is resting in a hospital bed, is laying on the bed. I sit in a chair next to him. “Are you ok?” I ask.
He opens his eyes when he hears my voice.
“I don’t know. The doctors said that I have a concussion and that I have two broken ribs." He responds, dazedly.
“Do you remember your name?” I ask.
“Do you have a last name, Dylan?”
“Do you know where you are?”
“I’m in a hospital in New York City.”
“Good. Do you have a family in New York City, Dylan?”
“Yes. They are at my house. They are probably worried about me. I should call them." He says, trying to get up.
“No. You shouldn’t move. If you have a broken rib, you might want to rest for a while. I'll grab the phone so you can call them."
I walk over to the wall and hand him a phone.
He dials a number, waits, and then says, "Hey, dad." He says, weakly.
"Dylan? Are you okay? You sound weak." I hear a man ask.
"Yeah, I'm mostly okay. I was attacked by people earlier today. Someone helped me too."
"Oh, no. I'm glad you were helped. What was the person's name? The guy that saved you, I mean?"
"It was a girl."
"You were saved by a girl?"
"Why the tone of surprise?"
"Well, I just thought when you said someone saved you, you were talking about a guy."
"Girls can save people too." He defends me. "Whatever. Bye." He says, angrily. He hangs up.
I smile in appreciation.
"You didn't have to fight your dad for me."
"Well, I don't like it when people don't appreciate what women do for our community. I mean, we would be here without them. They deserve more respect than they get."
"Okay. Thank you for saying that."
He coughs in his arm.
I pull out a water bottle from my satchel and offer it to him. “Here, drink this.”
“Thanks.” He says, grabbing it. He drinks it and hands it back to me. “Why did you help me?”
“I like helping people. Like I couldn’t help...” I pause, thinking about my parents.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, concerned since I started silently crying.
“If it’s nothing, then why are you crying?”
His attempt at a joke makes me smile. “Okay. I guess you’ve earned my trust. It’s about my parents.”
“What happened to them? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“You know the bombing at that bank on the news?”
“Well, they were there when it went off.”
“Oh,” he says in sudden comprehension, “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks,” I say, sadly.
“What’s your name? I can’t just call you 'mysterious person that saved my life', can I? It’s a mouthful.” He jokes, probably trying to cheer me up.
If his goal was to cheer me up, it worked like a charm. I smile. “Kylie. Kylie Hale.”
“Nice to meet you, Kylie Kylie Hale.”
I smile again. “It’s just Kylie Hale.”
“Okay. Kylie Hale, then. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too, Dylan Gale.”
“Even though we are almost strangers, I find you oddly comforting.”
“It’s a pleasure to be of service.”
Oddly comforting and cute. I mentally say to myself when he smiles, showing his perfect, pearly-white teeth.
He chuckles for an inexplicit reason.
He winces, clutching his rib. “Ow. I probably shouldn’t have done that.”
A woman named Dr. Smith enters the room. I tell her what happened and she writes something down on a clipboard in her arms.
“Is he going to be okay?” I ask an hour later when Dylan is sleeping in a hospital bed after an MRI test.
“Yes. He’ll be alright. He will heal in about a month. Are you a friend of his?”
“No. I was...walking... around New York and I heard he was being hurt. I... called the police... and they stopped the people from hurting him. I called the ambulance when they left.” I say, trying to figure out my story.
Luckily, I didn’t take too long because she believes me.
“That was very brave of you. You could’ve been hurt.”
“I know. I like helping people. It was nothing.” “Hey, if he asks, can you tell him that I’m at my house and I’ll come by tomorrow?”
“Thanks.” I smile and then I semi-limp, semi-walk to my house. I should’ve asked for ibuprofen. I tell myself since my shoulder, back, and ribs were hurting.
When I get home, I open the door, and luckily no one’s home.
I go to my room, upstairs, as fast as I can, and go into the bathroom in my room. I look bandages and I eventually find some.
I wrap the bandages around my shoulder and torso. I lay down on my bed and take a nap.
My friend, Stella, who I’m staying with, opens the door an hour later and says, “Hey, Kylie.”
“Hey, Stella. I’m going to school soon. I had to do something first.”
“If you weren’t at school, where were you until about an hour ago?”
“Oh,” Great. There you go again, Kylie. You were wrong about anyone being home, “well, I met this guy, Dylan, when I trying to take my mind off my parents. I think he’s seventeen, anyways, we hung out for a bit.”
She was giving me a look like a dad gives his son after he tells him about a crush he has, so I say, “It’s not like that. He’s just a friend.”
“Okay.” She drags.
“You’re relentless,” I say.
“Is he cute?”
“Stella, he’s just a friend. A friend: someone that you don’t want as a relationship partner.”
“Well, is he?” She presses.
“Maybe a little.” I allow.
“Okay.” She smiles and then walks downstairs.
In case you weren’t paying attention, that was Stella. She’s just barely nineteen. When my parents died, since I’m only sixteen, she took me in. She has long, white-dyed hair with a blond color faded into it at the tips. She was wearing an olive-green sweater-vest over a black shirt and blue skinny jeans. She had on black, flat-bottom Vans. Placed around her neck, was a heart-shaped, golden locket and a black choker.
She is always asking me if the boys I meet are cute, and some of them are. Including Dylan.
Now, let’s not get sidetracked, I’m about to call my gym teacher, Ms. Call, and let her know I won’t be going to gym class for a while.
There I am, see? At my bed, with my phone up to my ear. “Hey, Ms. Call.”
“Hey, Kylie. What can I help you with?”
“I just wanted to let you know that I can’t participate in Cheer for a while. I was mugged and the people that mugged me injured me.” I lie because I don’t want to explain what happened.
“I’m sorry you were hurt. Thanks for letting me know. Do you know when you’ll be back on the cheer team?
“You’re welcome. I should be back in about a month. You’ll know if I heal before that though.”
“Ok. Hope you heal well.”
“Thanks, Ms. Call. Bye.”
I hang up and then I head downstairs because Stella called me down for breakfast.
“Did you lie?” She asks.
“No. About what?” I reply, nervously.
She doesn’t seem to notice. “About meeting Dylan.”
“No. I just didn’t tell you something.” I finally admit.
“What did you hide from me?” She inquires.
“Well, Dylan and I weren’t hanging out. I was walking home, well, doing parkour, as I told you, and I heard him being attacked by someone. I helped him out and made sure he was okay. The guys that attacked him hurt me with the metal pipes they were hurting, but I got them arrested. I brought Dylan to the hospital and then came here.”
“Are you ok?”
“Yeah. I am. I bandaged myself up.”
“Okay. That’s good.”
We eat breakfast and then I head to school.
When I get to the lunchroom; the place I meet my two best friends, I find them sitting at a table, chatting, and I walk up to them.
See that girl with a maroon-colored shirt, skinny black jeans, and blonde hair? That’s my friend Bri. That’s what I get to call her. Her actual name is Brianna. She’s so cool! She’s the popular one in our group. She always has so many friends. I look up to her. She inspires me to be better than I currently am.
See the kid next to her, with the glasses and Sneakers? Yeah, him. That’s my friend, Jake. He’s the smart person in our group. He studies a lot, but he doesn’t spend all of his time studying. He is great at cheering me up. If it wasn’t for him, I might not be here talking to you right now.
Well, anyways, Jake and Bri are dating. They have been since about a week after Jake moved here from California two years ago. He met Bri during a hard time in her life. She had just recently, speaking of the month they met, escaped from a toxic relationship. Her ex-boyfriend was a jerk to her. I was telling her that she shouldn’t sit around and let him step on her like that when she came to my house, crying because he yelled at her. She broke up with him when she found out that he had cheated on her with someone on the cheer squad. Jake and I have been helping her get over him, telling her that he’s not worth crying over. She’s been happier recently because Jake got her a necklace for her birthday. She cried, not of sadness, but joyfully, when he pulled it out in front of the class, kneeled on one knee, and held it where she could see it. That was the week of prom which was three weeks ago. He asked her to prom and she said yes. I wish I had someone that does that for me.
Anyways, where were we? “Hey, guys. How are you?” I ask, sitting across from them.
“We’re good. What happened to your shoulder?” Jake asks when he saw the bandage on my shoulder since I was only wearing a tank top, which doesn’t cover it.
“Oh… well, I was doing parkour on the buildings around the city this morning, and I heard someone being attacked. I helped the guy out, but in the process, I got hit in the shoulder, stomach, and the back with metal pipes. Don’t worry, the person I helped is alright. He is in the hospital.”
“Are you ok?” Bri asks.
“Yeah. I won’t be practicing cheer with you for a while though. I think I have to do the work on paper until I heal."
“Okay. We’ll have to substitute you for another person since you are the captain and we won’t know what to do without you."
“Yeah. That’s fine. You could ask Jenny. I would’ve wanted her to be the captain if I wasn’t. She’s great!”
“Okay. I’ll ask her at lunch.”
“Is he cute? Dylan, I mean.” She asks after a minute.
“Well, maybe a little.” I understate.
“On a scale from one to ten, how cute is cute?”
“Honestly.” She confirms.
“Well, if I had to be honest, he’s at least a seven.”
“Ooh! He must look like Chris Evans.”
“No, more like Dylan O’Brien. Sorry, bad pun. Anyways, he has the same black hair and he has green eyes.”
“Okay. Well, that’s good. Do you like him?”
“I don’t know yet. I just met him, and we didn’t talk much. I was going to go see him tomorrow morning since it’s Friday. Maybe I can get to know him tomorrow.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
After school, I walk to my house. “I wonder if he likes me too. I’m not going to ask him until he brings it up though, so I know he’s ok, but if he brings it up, I’ll tell him.” I say to myself in an undertone since I just past a couple walking their dog.
I get home fifteen minutes later. “Hey, Stella! I’m here!” I call.
“Hey, Kylie. How was school?” She asks, appearing in the opening that leads to the kitchen.
“It was good. I told my friends, Bri and Jake about Dylan. Why does everyone keep asking me if he’s cute?”
“Because you’re a teenage girl that met a boy and helped him. I’m sure you’ve felt some attraction to him.”
“Yeah, I am attracted to him. I can’t stop thinking about him. I just don’t want to tell him yet.” I admit.
“Kylie has a crush! Kylie has a crush!” She chants.
I’m blushing now. “Oh, shut up,” I say, jokingly.
“I bet he’s really cute. What does he look like?”
“He looks like Dylan O’Brien. He has the same black hair and green eyes. I don’t want to tell him that I am infatuated with him. Not yet anyway. I want him to heal before I tell him.”
“That’s very sweet of you. I’m glad you found someone that you like again. I hope, this time, they will like you too.”
“Thanks. I’m going to do my homework. Tell me when dinner is done, okay?”
“Sure.” Stella smiles and I smile back.
I walk to my room and do my homework. Yes, I still try to learn even know I haven’t been feeling like myself recently. Who knew my education might be the most important thing in my life later. You did? Well, you don’t know why it would important for me alone in a different way than your way.
An hour later, Stella opens the door. “Dinner’s done.” She announces.
“Ok. Thanks.” I get up and head downstairs with her.
We eat dinner. “So, I was watching the news and there were the three people you said you stopped from hurting Dylan. How exactly did you stop them? One of them had a lot of blood on his forehead and a rock next to him with blood on it.”
“Well, that one specifically, he tried to hit me with the metal tubes I told you about and I grabbed it, twisted with surprising strength, and threw him as hard as I could against a wall. Later, when I defeated them, I threatened to hurt the guy that was holding Dylan with a knife to his throat. I told him if he didn’t want to end up like his friends, I suggested he better let go of Dylan. He didn’t for a while, so, to prove my point, I kicked a rock at a wall, and it hit the guy I threw in the forehead when I saw him getting up in a mirror behind Dylan. I don’t know where I got that good at fighting. It surprised me. Anyways, the guy holding Dylan let go and ran away. I helped Dylan and now he’s at the hospital, healing.”
“You kicked a rock at someone?”
“Yeah, but in my defense, he almost killed Dylan.”
“Ok.” She says, impressed.
“Why the sudden interest in my fighting skills? I thought you were some sort of pacifist.”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow when you get back from the hospital.”
“Ok. Well, I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” I smile and walk to my room. I fall asleep ten minutes later.
That night, I dreamt of a girl; I assume she is older than me. Her face is faded out. She is wearing a beautiful, lilac-colored wedding gown. It is the prettiest dress I have ever laid my eyes upon. The girl is standing in a meadow with a man, whose face is also faded. He is wearing an amethyst-colored tuxedo with a rose in its pocket. I see a crowd of people sitting in white chairs, looking up at them, smiling. They, the girl and man, are standing in front of the group of people, looking at each other. There is an elderly man with a black pastor’s uniform, standing at a wooden podium, like one a pastor stands on while he reads the bible to members of a church. The pastor has a book in his hand, and he is reading from it. “Do you,” the name is faded so I can’t hear it, “take,” the other name is also faded, “to be your wife?”
“I do.” The man replies.
I realize what they are doing; they are getting married. How nice of them!
“And do you,” faded name again, “take,” once again, faded, “to be your husband?”
“I do.” The girl responds; her voice melodic.
“You may kill the bride.”
My dream is now a nightmare.
I watch horrified for the girl’s life as the man pulls out a knife instead of a ring and slaughters the bride.