Current mood:	contemplative
Current music:	50 cent - Outta Control

Tyrannical Pt. 3
Sometimes, I feel a sort of tingling sensation across the tips of my fingers and under my jaw for long periods of time. Like always, I thoroughly anazlyzed the current problem that plagued my problematic life and concluded the mysterious and unexplained medical condition was a result of copious amounts of stress inflicted upon my supple heart. Either that, or I smoke too much and the high level of nicotine in my blood is causing some sort of undesired, physically stimulating high. Right now, I'm almost numb from the unpleasant sensation, indicating that it is a result of anxiety. The massive cherry oak door in front of me towered nearly three stories above and casted a sense of insignificance across my trembling form. This guy was the real deal and I had no idea of what he was expecting from me. All I know is that he's got me by the balls - nice and tight too. I grabbed the thick, silver ring sticking out of the carefully carved lion's mouth and knocked three times on the door as instructed. A well dressed Italian man opened the door and directed me to a room at the top end of a luxurious master staircase. The entire place reeked of wealth and pure evil. Masterful works of art covered the russian white walls to the distant corners that were laced with elegant swirls of gold linings. I never would have guessed yesterday that I would find myself in a place like this today. Man, I'm in too deep.

Nervously, I entered the master office of the titanic mansion and stood before a man that was capable of completely destroying my precious life. For some unknown reason, this legendary mob boss has decided to spare me mercy instead of easily releasing the most incriminating of videotapes. A famous hero, spontaneously wasting two loved, innocent teenagers during a drunken stupor. Talk about prime time news shit right there!
"Take a seat, son.", the elderly but confident man ordered.
I sat in the brown, leather chair placed in front of the impressive desk and asked "What do you want from me?", which sounded courageously direct yet clearly hesitant at the same time. I had just spoken an epitome of oxymorons, but the powerfully radiant man held a stern and unmoved facial expression. Paralyzing fear spread throughout my body every time I dared to look into the man's cold eyes. Why in the world am I in this room with him? How has this happened?
"Everything happens for a reason, kid. I'm sure you've got a few questions to ask, but just let me clarify something first. You fucked up, and I caught you. As you and I both know, you got a lot to lose and I can see in your eyes that you don't got the balls to face the potential consequences blocking your promising path. Having considered this, let's make things straight - I'm the fucking boss." he said.
"Yes, sir." I replied.
"We all make mistakes, son. I know this, and I can accept the fact to a certain degree. However, no matter how much admirable shit you achieved, you have no fucking right to do what you did in that room. Unfortunately for you, it just so happens that I got an underground porn operation going on at that dormitory. A couple cameras planted behind the vents of a graduation ceremony wall can make a whole lot of money. You wouldn't believe how fast these perverts eat this shit up. Let's get realistic here, who wouldn't want to watch a couple of hot teens fuck like rabbits after a hard night of well-deserved drinking? Anyway, let's get to the point here. You move fast, kid. And I like it. The way you operate under intense situations is downright astonishing. I need someone that can move like yourself. My other guy is getting sloppy and it is unacceptable. You, you were born for this shit. I am handing you your destiny on a silver platter. So, you can take what I offer, or you can spend the remainder of your existence in overwhelming regret and shame."
I sat silent for a moment and finally said, "Tell me my purpose, sir."

I walked out of the building with a tan envelope containing photographs of contracted assassination targets and multiple heavy weapons strapped around my body. The boss says I have to take out two marks in place of the two victims I viciously slaughtered during the graduation party. After that, I'm free to go. Even Steven. Still, this is fucked. I have to kill more people in order to save my ass from previous murders. A strong feeling of sadness dominated my confused, bitter brain. The feeling remindmed me of when I sometimes pictured struggling, single mothers crying over a filthy sink, like when I viewed photographs of cute, fat little boys being senselessly murdered on television, like when I witnessed injured raccoons crawling for a last bit of life after being plowed by an unforgiving truck. This isn't me. How have I come to this? Nonetheless, there is no turning back now. I have been given a mission and I cannot fail. The first photograph in the envelope was of the universal assassin that became infamous by suspectedly eliminating a well-known local drug lord along with a serial killer that reigned supreme over the ineffective law enforcement 'protecting' this land. The second photograph sent chills down my spine. It was a cop, apparently hot on to many trails that lead right to the Don. It wasn't the fact that the mark was a police officer that made my mind race with relentless worry, but the fact that the cop happened to be the father of the english class kid that made me what I am.