I Think I Need a Miracle to Make it Through
December twentieth.
Seifer both loved and hated it. Loving it for the weather; the snow lightly touched everything and chilled it down to the core. He hated it because it neared a holiday that he despised the most. Christmas hasn't always been a difficult time for him, as a kid he loved it. He spent a lot of time with his mother, who was the only one in his life that he was able to count on. She shed light on his life when he needed it, and now that one thing that kept him together had been taken from him.
His mom, Fiona Almasy, died at a young age. As a matter of fact, she was murdered at the age of twenty-five. Seifer was only six (Right now he's seventeen). Whoever did it is a mystery, and the case went unsolved. Their home had been drenched and torn apart by a hurricane, and that was where his mother had been killed; so all evidence had been destroyed by the floods that Hurricane Skye brought to South Carolina. The killer went free unless he perished with the hurricane. Seifer had been taken into custody before the hurricane could make it to land. It was the investigation that was ruined and put to a time-limit from the oncoming storm.
In a way, Seifer hoped that the killer didn't perish. He wanted to confront the bastard and kill him with his own bare hands. If the killer did perish though, it would prevent others from dealing with the same suffering he had to go through. His father was a deadbeat, and he couldn't even put a face together whenever someone brought up the paternal question. It wasn't a sensitive topic, since Seifer couldn't bring himself to care about someone he didn't even know. He was nothing but a stranger. And, he wanted to keep it as such.
Standing by the lamp post, he reached into his pocket to grab a pack of cigarettes. Ejecting one from the package, he stuffed it back inside and placed that single cigarette between his lips.
It remained unlit.
Seifer had never smoked in his lifetime. Anyone who knew what he went through might be surprised, but anyone who really knew him wouldn't be. There aren't many people who really know him. His 'family' would consider him a good asset.
That 'family' is nothing but a bunch of goons to him; goons, but dangerous goons. And to use family as a word to describe them would be better off with a gun in their mouth. They have shot other their own gang members for being suspicious or questioning authority. If you are lucky, they would like you enough to give you a verbal scolding. Seifer stayed on good terms with them for a while, but that is only because he doesn't communicate with words, he just gives a simple nod when given directions.
His job isn't to question authority, but to make sure that certain people keep their mouths shut or end the lives of rivals who cross them. A job like that would make anyone grow stone cold, and luckily for them, Seifer was nothing but a statue when they collected him from the streets. Seifer also learned that he had a talent with guns. Particularly, aiming and catching the target.
He was often labeled a cold-hearted killer; a ruthless one. And his talent is what gives him the respect of the leader and envy from his peers. But, sometimes that envy metamorphosed to hatred.
Seifer didn't have a single fuck to give, just so long as no one got in his way.
Lost in his thoughts, a crawling sensation woke him from his reverie and he swatted at his arm to kill the insect. Once he nailed that bloodsucker, he glanced up and saw a figure in the distance. Being near-sighted, he couldn't make out the face. The only thing he knew was that the figure was most definitely female.
"What do you want?" He asked instantly with that firm tone that he always had whenever he spoke to people he didn't know or people that he considered acquaintances. But, instead of receiving an answer, the girl walked forward and pulled out, what looked like, a pistol.
"You need to come with me." The female said this in a very hostile tone.
A bitter laugh ripped through his throat and he pulled out his own pistol and pointed it in her direction.
"You and what army, sweetcheeks?"
Author's Note: MY FIRST SEIFER STORY. 8D Please tell me what you think! Feedback would be wonderful! I always welcome constructive criticism. 3