Men flood down the stairs.
The children around me disperse.
My heart beats against my chest. I run to the corner of the room, and stand there. Waiting. Looking. Watching.
They have come
To take me
B
A
C
K
I can't go there. I refuse.
I will do anything in my power to not go there again. I would rather die. But I know I won't be able to do that.
That's too easy. A coward's way out.
The intruders—the men from the Center, they have tattoos on their necks—shoot down many of the men still standing in shock.
No one expected this attack. Thus, we're horribly unprepared.
But I'm good at that. Vulnerable.
Being small by nature, the guards picked on me at the Center. I didn't know when they would. So I was always wielding a weapon.
I picked the wrong day to not stuff a knife into my clothes.
My eyes zoom in on a man running towards me. He smirks, almost triumphantly, though he hasn't even done anything yet.
And he won't be doing anything else ever.
He shoots.
I duck and move.
The man runs so fast he runs into the statue behind me.
He falls.
I pick his gun up from the floor and shoot him in the head. Blood drips from his head, filling me with a sick sense of relief.
With a small shrug to myself, I kick his heavy, lifeless body away from me and stand next to him, waiting for more men to come at me.
How did these men even get into the ballroom?
Isn't this the most well-protected event of the year?
There must be a mole.
But who? And from which mafia?
I scan the room. The children are fleeing through an open exit, women following after them. I see my brothers fighting and shooting.
The room is a mess of bodies and blood.
I'm used to it.
But I didn't think I'd have to see it again so soon.
Another man runs to me.
He doesn't get very far.
His dead body falls into a small slump by my feet.
Man after man runs to me.
They all fall, bloody.
This gun is coming in handy.
A soft smile graces my lips. I look down at the first man I killed tonight. "Thank you," I say, feeling obligated to show my appreciation for his gift.
When his gun runs out of bullets, I kneel down and pick up another dead man's gun.
Man after man.
Shot after shot.
They begin to blend into one.
My blonde hair has been dyed red. My pink dress has gone pinker. I look like I've just crawled up from Hell.
ČTEŠ
Little Lila
Beletriestandalone ~ mafia siblings series "She's a monster!" "She's a demon!" "She's a... child." Lila grew up in an asylum. She could see things other people didn't see. Lila was told she was crazy. Crazy people must be punished. The asylum was a cover...
