The Decision

Recently, Years 7 & 8 wrote for the National Short Story Young Writer competition. The winners will be announced in April. The remit was to write a short story entitled ‘The Decision’.

I don’t believe in God, but if He is real, I reckon he’s given up on me.

The bleached white walls of the building flash by as I sprint in. They never see it coming. Already on high alert, a simple coin roll is all it takes to send them into a bullet-wasting frenzy. I sneak by, preferring not to kill them. I’ve caused enough death for one lifetime already. “52, you’re coming up to the main hallway,” Control whispers through the earpiece. “Try not to get yourself killed.” “Roger that,” I reply, whispering. An almost automatic reaction, I barely think about it.

I steadily stride in and they immediately panic. I have a friendly smile as I pull out the tranquilliser darts. They work instantly. Leaving the last guard out cold on the floor, I stroll out and calmly check the damage. There is a slight rip through my trousers but otherwise fine. Christ, their aim is even worse than I imagined.

The compound is almost empty now. The agents on the inside have done a very good job. Up ahead, a man is attempting to leave the area but our blockages are slowing him down. So well set up, I wonder often why the need a quiet agent with a gun to finish it off. He swears out loud and I know immediately that that is Colonel A.B. Hipkins. Another good man gone bad. I’ve seen way too many in my time. I raise my gun and check the chamber. I’ve only got one bullet left. “Take the shot 52; this may be the only chance we get!” Control crackles in my ear, as if I didn’t know that already. I am raising the scope up to my eye when the man turns around. I freeze. I’d know that face anywhere.

The person I have trained for ten years to kill is my father. My gun almost slips from my suddenly leaden grip, drenched with sweat. The only thing that keeps it there is my fear of compromising the mission and everyone involved, causing more death than I have in my lifetime. The sudden rush of emotions hauls me back to the darkest corner of my mind, to the memory I’ve been suppressing for my entire life yet still remember so vividly.

The day I watched my father die.

It was the day of my 9th birthday. I had opened my presents already and my parents were settling down, preparing for a day of frenzied excitement on my part. We lived in a beautiful house, in a nice neighbourhood where my neighbours had come in for a cup of tea and to wish me happy birthday. I had got a new toy gun and kept on shooting my father. He told me I would be a great man someday and hold a gun with pride. Then he tousled my hair and laughed. It’s only now that I realise that he was steering me towards the man I am today. A broken man. A murderer. I was sitting on the floor playing with my new toys when we heard a car outside. I looked out of the window and saw a black limousine with tinted windows pull up in front of our well-tended garden. My dad looked up and said that he would go and talk to them about it. He strode out, like the hero I thought he was, and we heard raised voices. A shout rebounded throughout the surrounding area just before a gunshot. I sprinted out and crouched down next to my father, lying on the floor. I shook him and screamed in his ear but he could not get up. I started to yell for help as his eyes flicked open. He looked up at me and whispered, “You will be a great man one day. Don’t let anyone tell you different.” Those words forever seared onto my brain were what spurred me on through my training.

After that, my mother became completely cut off. She wouldn’t go to work and soon lost her job. We lived off my father’s life insurance but I dropped out of school at 16 and took up a full time job to support us both. But even that wasn’t enough later. So of course I jumped at the chance to join the military, if just for more pay. I slowly worked my way up and was recruited as an agent for MI6. I got the mandatory tattoo and with that, all memory of my previous life faded into the background to be replaced with nothing but a killer and the number 52.

“Do it!” Control’s frustrated voice sends me tumbling back down to reality. ”Time is running out!” “This is your fault!” I scream back. “Killing my own father was never part of the agreement!” Thoughts conflict in my mind. I could run away and never look back. But what about Mother? She’s fine with her carer!

“I know you’re struggling, but think of everything he’s done to you!” My earpiece crackles.

Something with his words feels wrong.

“How do you know about my dad?” I whisper slowly, choosing my words carefully.

“You knew it all and didn’t tell me.”

“52 wait!” Control pleads desperately. Suddenly, everything is crystal clear. I’m making a choice, but it is on my own terms. “I’m sorry control.” I say.

“No, no, think about it!” comes from the other end as I mute his side.

“I’m no hero.” I have made my decision.

“But neither is he.”

The bullet flies through the air as I turn away .I can almost hear it whistling and I allow myself a smile while the sound of a body hitting the floor echoes through the facility. As an afterthought, I pull out my ear piece and crunch it under my foot. Things are simpler now than they’ve ever been.

I don’t believe in God, but if He is real, he’s giving me a second chance.

#competition #ShortStory