AN: This is just a short one-shot in which Desmond is alive. It seemed fitting so...anyway, yeah. In memory of those who passed and in honor of those who were injured.
The sound of an explosion resonated in Desmond's head as he sprung up from bed. Cold sweat infested his body and he trembled in fear. Screams of agony ringed in his ears and all he could see was crimson red, the color of blood.
He breathed in sharply, cutting the noise and making everything become silent. All that could be heard was the soft tick tock of his alarm clock. The air became still and heavy.
What had he been dreaming about? A terror attack on the United States? Things have not gotten better since September 11, 2001; it only got worse. Days passed and it almost seemed that the U.S. was beginning to lose its allies. It was as if the Americans were the enemy. But who knows? Maybe they were... They always had their minds on money and became obsessed with power, wanting have influence over other countries.
It wasn't too long ago when Desmond relived the memories of Connor Kenway, the man who made it possible for the patriots to gain the upper hand against the redcoats. All of it, began in Boston. Wasn't this what they had initially fought against? People who craved power over others. Desmond clenched his fists and gripped at the thin blanket sheets that he noted were white, the dominant color of the assassin robes.
"Briiiiinnggg!" His train of thought was interrupted and the heaviness in the air was brought to a stop by the sound of his alarm. His heart, which had began to quicken its beats, gradually came down from its adrenaline rush as he looked at the alarm clock, reading the time. It was 6 o'clock sharp. He gave it a slight smack at the top of it, shutting it up. The silence was back, but he had forgotten what he dreamt about and previously pondered upon. With a throaty groan he got out of bed and was readying himself for the day to come.
Desmond pressed the power button to the television, and it made its usual fuzzy noise as it came to life. He shuffled his way to the bathroom and turned the faucet on, splashing cool water onto face. As the water slid down his skin, he heard the words "two explosions". Immediately he ran out of the bathroom and to the place in front of the TV. The news headline read, "Two explosions in Boston marathon kills 3 people and injures at least 113 people." Footage from the marathon was being played on the news as the anchorman and woman commented on the event. Most of it was censored.
It made Desmond sick. Blood everywhere and mostly of innocents. It went against a rule he had learned to preach after living the memories of the past assassins. Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent. He covered his mouth and was sure he could vomit from this tragic occurrence.
It was as if his ancestors, who he learned so much about, came flooding back, sharing his pain. What everyone called, "the Land of the Free" was slowly crumbling. It had all started with the Boston
Massacre and it would seem that it would end with another in Boston itself. Connor had once said, "It is better to have faith in something, than none at all." But what was he supposed to put the little faith Desmond could muster, into? How long until it was time for the world to go to hell?
AN: Not exactly sure if anyone is aware of the actual bombing, so...if anyone that lost someone in this horrific event is reading this, I give you my condolences even though they probably mean nothing to you.