Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Another Knife in my Hand
Another Knife in my Hand
4 reviewsGerard is a top notch assassin. Frank is one of his charges. What happens when they fall in love? *FRERARD*
2Original
A/N: Not the story you auditioned for, sorry. This idea has been nagging me for a while and I just needed to write it down. This story is inspired by the song "I never told you what I do for a living" by My Chemical Romance. It is loosely based on the song but I'm not going to incorporate the song into it (like putting lyrics between the lines and stuff). I hope to evolve this as a chapter fic.
I feel the press of the flat, cool blade against my palm.
I look down at the small piece of paper in my hand, which flutters slightly in the light breeze. There are only two lines on the paper. The first one is a name, written in neat block print: Megan Clesae. The second is an address, scrawled in my untidy handwriting.
I look at the street sign and then at the number on the house. My eyes flit down to the piece of paper again.
This is the place.
1258 Forest Drive. I give a slight sigh and begin to climb the steps up to the darkened house. I quickly pick the lock on the door, looking around to make sure no one has seen me. But then again, who would? It's nearly midnight and there's no one around. The houses are too far apart to hear anything. Still, you can't be too careful. I look around once more before silently shutting the front door.
I creep up the stairs, careful not to make a sound. This is a delicate job considering the age of the house, but I manage. I find a door that's slightly ajar and peer through the crack. It appears to be a bedroom. It is very plain, with pale baby-blue walls, a wooden floor, a queen-size bed, and a small bookshelf. The bed stands in the middle of the room with the headboard against the wall. It has lime green sheets with a white diamond pattern, and the bookshelf is filled with classics. There is only one window, located on the left side of the bed. The blinds are drawn.
Helpful, I think to myself.
In the bed is a woman, sleeping with her back to me. My target. Quietly I slip into the room. She is only mildly pretty from what I can see, with short mousy brown hair and an overall small stature. She looks so innocent, sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of what is about to happen.
I weigh the knife slowly in my hand, debating the best way to do this. I know I must decide quickly- the sooner I'm gone, the better. I settled with the simplest approach.
I slide over to her, the only noise the rustling of the leaves outside and the soft sound of her breathing. I manage to roll her onto her back without waking her. She mumbles something softly and then is quiet. This is the easiest way to do it. Slowly, I raise the knife until it is perfectly positioned over where her heart is. Then I plunge the knife downwards and it's over.
This is what I do for a living. The main part of my job is over now. All that's left is cleanup. I hate cleanup. It's annoying and takes a long time. However, if I didn't do it I would be in big trouble. I can't cover my tracks without cleanup. I sigh inwardly, turning to the body. I lift the knife out of her back, now bloody and glistening. My hands are covered too, and the sheets are quickly turning red. The easiest way may be fast initially, but it's also the one that requires the most cleanup. Did I mention that I hate cleanup? But, it comes with the job.
The warm blood is still oozing from her wound. The smell is sickly sweet. Most people would gag, but I'm used to it. I cleanup quickly. Once I've finished, I carefully lay the body in it's original position. Once I'm satisfied with my work on the body and room I go to clean my knife. It's a good knife, long and curved, serrated near the handle with a leather grip. It's served me well, and is one of my favorites. I carry it pretty much everywhere.
Once that's clean I give the place a once-over to make sure I didn't miss anything. Then I quietly slide out the door. It is now closer to 1:00 in the morning. I re-lock it and make my way down the front steps. Hopefully no one will go looking for her for a few days. By then, I would be long gone.
My name is Gerard Way, and (in case you didn't already guess) I'm an assassin. But not just any old assassin. The best assassin. People come to me for many different reasons, but I don't ask. That's a part of my policy. My clients give me a name, description, and whatever else I ask for (which changes depending on the job), and I find and kill the charge. No questions asked. My price is high, but I never fail.
And I never get caught.
A/N: Yeah so basically this is an introduction to the actual story, I hope you guys like it!
I feel the press of the flat, cool blade against my palm.
I look down at the small piece of paper in my hand, which flutters slightly in the light breeze. There are only two lines on the paper. The first one is a name, written in neat block print: Megan Clesae. The second is an address, scrawled in my untidy handwriting.
I look at the street sign and then at the number on the house. My eyes flit down to the piece of paper again.
This is the place.
1258 Forest Drive. I give a slight sigh and begin to climb the steps up to the darkened house. I quickly pick the lock on the door, looking around to make sure no one has seen me. But then again, who would? It's nearly midnight and there's no one around. The houses are too far apart to hear anything. Still, you can't be too careful. I look around once more before silently shutting the front door.
I creep up the stairs, careful not to make a sound. This is a delicate job considering the age of the house, but I manage. I find a door that's slightly ajar and peer through the crack. It appears to be a bedroom. It is very plain, with pale baby-blue walls, a wooden floor, a queen-size bed, and a small bookshelf. The bed stands in the middle of the room with the headboard against the wall. It has lime green sheets with a white diamond pattern, and the bookshelf is filled with classics. There is only one window, located on the left side of the bed. The blinds are drawn.
Helpful, I think to myself.
In the bed is a woman, sleeping with her back to me. My target. Quietly I slip into the room. She is only mildly pretty from what I can see, with short mousy brown hair and an overall small stature. She looks so innocent, sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of what is about to happen.
I weigh the knife slowly in my hand, debating the best way to do this. I know I must decide quickly- the sooner I'm gone, the better. I settled with the simplest approach.
I slide over to her, the only noise the rustling of the leaves outside and the soft sound of her breathing. I manage to roll her onto her back without waking her. She mumbles something softly and then is quiet. This is the easiest way to do it. Slowly, I raise the knife until it is perfectly positioned over where her heart is. Then I plunge the knife downwards and it's over.
This is what I do for a living. The main part of my job is over now. All that's left is cleanup. I hate cleanup. It's annoying and takes a long time. However, if I didn't do it I would be in big trouble. I can't cover my tracks without cleanup. I sigh inwardly, turning to the body. I lift the knife out of her back, now bloody and glistening. My hands are covered too, and the sheets are quickly turning red. The easiest way may be fast initially, but it's also the one that requires the most cleanup. Did I mention that I hate cleanup? But, it comes with the job.
The warm blood is still oozing from her wound. The smell is sickly sweet. Most people would gag, but I'm used to it. I cleanup quickly. Once I've finished, I carefully lay the body in it's original position. Once I'm satisfied with my work on the body and room I go to clean my knife. It's a good knife, long and curved, serrated near the handle with a leather grip. It's served me well, and is one of my favorites. I carry it pretty much everywhere.
Once that's clean I give the place a once-over to make sure I didn't miss anything. Then I quietly slide out the door. It is now closer to 1:00 in the morning. I re-lock it and make my way down the front steps. Hopefully no one will go looking for her for a few days. By then, I would be long gone.
My name is Gerard Way, and (in case you didn't already guess) I'm an assassin. But not just any old assassin. The best assassin. People come to me for many different reasons, but I don't ask. That's a part of my policy. My clients give me a name, description, and whatever else I ask for (which changes depending on the job), and I find and kill the charge. No questions asked. My price is high, but I never fail.
And I never get caught.
A/N: Yeah so basically this is an introduction to the actual story, I hope you guys like it!
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