A Reason

Breathe in, breathe out.

Hands tightly clasp the gun in his hand, fingers preparing to pull the trigger. A bead of sweat runs down the side of his face and his fingers itch to rub it away. An exhausted sigh leaves his lips, eyes fixated on the area below him as he hid behind the wall. This was it. This was the moment, it was really now or never. He would either kill or be killed; he would win or lose the battle. It was coming to an end; it would soon near its climax. He had a story, and he was the main character.

All he needed was his own happy ending.

Harsh breaths leave him and his grip tenses slightly. It was probably too much to hope for. He knew that. He knew it ever since he had entered the job without second thought. Now, he wondered if it was all worth it. Travelling to different places and learning different dialects, hopping from one place to another without having the chance to say goodbye to whoever he had met. His grip loosened, and he lowered his gun slowly, deciding to sit instead of crouch, look up and gaze at the empty sky instead of think of possible ways to kill. The man wrapped his arms around his jean-clad legs, face falling into a frown and messy red hair shielding his blue eyes.

He wondered if it was worth sleeping in a bed with no one to hold.

Another sigh left him and he shifted a little. He ran a hand through his hair and felt it move back into his eyes, and he gazed at the starless view beyond him. The sky was black and the lights were dim, the city lights seemed so near yet so far. His heart ached to go back to those lights, more especially to a certain light in a home that contained only a singular human being, one lady who was most likely sleeping at this time of the night.

It was survive or die, and he was striving for the first. Yet even the strike of the bullet and the pain in his chest wouldn’t override the pain he would feel upon realizing that it truly was goodbye. His heart ached. His eyes burned with the sudden sting of incoming tears. He grits his teeth and shut his eyes, willing himself to keep calm and focus on the task at hand. Soon enough, he returned to his crouched position, against the wall and his hands on the black gun ready to shoot.

His gaze kept on the area once more, and he hoped that she would continue to have the patience to wait for him to return. He counted his lucky stars and silently prayed that she was out there, thinking of him, hopeful that he would come back soon enough.

But he knew that hope was as fleeting as the sound of a gunshot.