I – Jack, the 12 year-old, was with my father : J
I – Jack, the 12 year-old,
was with my father : John.
little did he know: I was a cold-blooded assassin.
one day, Dad saw me, training: I was holding a pocket knife.
“ it’s so boring being an assassin, life sucks.” I said.
“ also, I really have my own organisation, probably the name is: shadow.”
my father was shocked, He has never seen this side of me before.
Then I turn around to see enemies: “ dad, look out!” I said.
my father was scared, except for me.
And then my expression change,
“ You guys should work for me,
because I’m gonna make you rich.” I said mockingly.
The bad guy looked at me, if I was crazy.
Suddenly, a guy with a beard came out of nowhere.
“ I trust this kid.” He said.
“B-b-but, boss… he’s only 12 years old.” One of the men said worried.
“ a deal is a deal.” I said.
A few days later, “ those guys work for m now
plus they won’t hurt you unless I told them too.” I said.
“ son, please stop this” my father said.
The glint of the setting sun off the rusty blade was the only light in the abandoned warehouse. I, Jack, 12 years old, practiced the flick of the wrist, the silent thrust, the precise angle. My father, John, watched, his face a mask of bewildered concern. He’d never seen this side of me.
“It’s so boring being an assassin, life sucks,” I muttered, more to myself than to him. “Also, I really have my own organization. It’s called Shadow.”
He just stared at me, speechless. I’d kept this world hidden, a secret compartment in my soul. My father, a man who believed in honesty and kindness, would never understand.
Suddenly, I froze. Footsteps echoed in the shadows. “Dad, look out!” I hissed, my expression transforming into cold calculation.
My father, who’d been standing behind me, took a step back, fear flashing in his eyes.
“You guys should work for me,” I announced, my voice devoid of emotion. “Because I’m gonna make you rich.”
The men, hulking figures with cruel eyes, looked at me as if I was insane. They were here to take me out, to silence my father and me. But they hadn’t anticipated this.
A man with a thick beard stepped out of the darkness. He was the leader, the one I’d targeted. He looked me up and down, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “I trust this kid,” he said, surprising everyone.
“B-b-but, boss… he’s only 12 years old,” one of the men stammered.
“A deal is a deal,” I said, my voice steady and unwavering. The leader smirked, his gaze meeting mine. I knew then that my gamble had paid off.
A few days later, my father and I sat at our kitchen table. The house felt strangely quiet, devoid of the usual familial banter.
“Those guys work for me now,” I announced, pushing a bowl of cereal around my plate. “Plus, they won’t hurt you, unless I tell them to.”
My father’s eyes, usually warm and kind, were cold and worried. “Son, please stop this.”
“I won’t,” I said, my voice hard. “I have to. There’s no other way.” The weight of my words, the burden of my secret, pressed down on my chest, a reminder of the terrifying life I had chosen, and the dark path I was walking.
