In the beginning, my world was a bubble. I thought my family was a normal family. My parents loved me. They praised me. I grew up with the idea that everything was like that. Until the bubble burst. My parents were anonymous hitmen, contract killers who accepted any job if it offered a good pay. I was a child; they never taught me about right and wrong, only convenience and survival. They were good, very good, at what they did. No doubt.
As soon as they discovered my incredible aim, my fate was sealed. Every day, they drilled me with physical and precision training. In my parents' eyes, I would be the family's natural successor, the pride of the house. They praised me with words that made my chest swell with pride: "You're going to make the world a better place," "You're going to achieve impossible feats," "You are our pride." I proudly swallowed all their praise, until that day came. That cursed day.
My parents, with the same excitement they would have when buying a new car, told me it would be my first assassination. The victim was a young eighteen-year-old woman, older than me, with damaged hair and a look full of pleas. They explained that she owed a large amount to their clients and that they offered a good reward for her head. I, Axel, that red-haired boy who always had a smile, aimed the gun. And I saw her. Her eyes, tied to a chair, looked at me with deep regret. It wasn't fear; it was a silent resignation.
That unknown emotion pierced my chest. A cold sweat ran down my entire body. An internal denial, a rejection of what I was about to do, tensed every muscle. Although I was a simple child, my soul screamed in silence. In the end, my parents' orders prevailed. A clean shot to the head.
I froze, staring at the inert body. My heart began to beat intensely, as if it were an emotion of surprise, of pure terror. My parents immediately praised me, but I no longer heard those compliments the same way. They were screeching, repetitive, a monotonous buzz that drilled into my ears.
It happened a few more times like that. My mind wasn't right. I constantly wondered if this was truly what I was supposed to be doing. I didn't have a sincere answer about what was right and wrong. In my world, everything was upside down. I started to cry in silence.
Until one day I heard the news. My parents would unplug the television when they left, probably so I wouldn't find out what the outside world was like. But that time, a mistake my mother made when plugging it in gave me a glimpse of reality. I saw it there. News of crimes, events that happened near me, some of which I had committed. I realized that everything I did was perceived in the same way as the news: with that knot in my throat that I was unable to explain because I didn't know what was good and what wasn't.
Finally, I felt guilty. I called the police to inform my parents that hitmen had just broken into my house, just as they were about to arrive with the usual excitement.They came almost instantly.
We were in the back of the house when the sound of sirens became present.
"Shit, they found us. How? It doesn't matter, we have to escape from here without them noticing," my father said. "Axel, come on, for God's sake, we don't have time!"
At that moment, that little red-haired boy took out his first gun. With bullets in his magazine, he aimed at his two parents with a lot of nervousness and fear.
"Axel, what the hell do you think you're doing, you animal?" my father said, anger showing.
"No... but that's bad for him, right?" my mother asked my father, as if it were a macabre joke.
My father connected the dots quickly, his face disfigured by rage.
"You... you son of a bitch, it was you!"
My mother, with an anger that made her unrecognizable, looked at me as if she were seeing another person.
"Axel, if I had known, I would have aborted you, you piece of shit."
The air stopped. A dry gunshot echoed in the back of the house. The shot didn't hurt anyone. In an impulse, that child fired. Not at his parents, but into the air, as if he wanted the bullet to take all the misery with it. With a face of regret, fear, guilt, and shame, he said nothing. Through tears, he ran in the opposite direction from his parents. They didn't follow him; they had to escape the police.
The boy ran relentlessly, not knowing how much time had gone by, taking different routes. I had a lot on my mind. Was what I had just done good? But even if it was good, I was really hurt by the way I hurt my parents. I pondered how many people I had killed who had hopes, dreams, anxieties, and emotions. How many people's joy I... i had stolen.
Far from the city where he lived, that red haired boy who ran through trees and plants passed out in a sea of tears in a remote location.