Ruth
I hate myself.
I hate what I am.
I hate what I have to do. What they make me do.
I want to die.
Kill me.
Please, kill me.
Why won't you kill me?
Why won't you kill me?!!
I awoke with a start, sweat running down my face. I gasped for air as I ripped my covers off. What's up with these dreams? Why cant I ever have a moment of peace? I got out of bed and leaned out my open window, allowing the cool breeze to dance around my face, my long hair sweeping around me.
Ever since two years ago, just after I had turned 11, I began having strange, suicidal nightmares. In them I was always crying, pleading for death. They were driving me mad! I would never, ever commit suicide. I don't hate myself. And I definitely don't want someone to kill me!
I glared at the moon, which seemed to shine menacingly at me. I never once resented working for my father's business. Not once. After all, he saved me from my alcoholic mother. I would do anything and everything to make him happy. Of course I know he wasn't my real father. He took me in when I was still a little baby. Apparently, my mother had tried to trade me for a few bottles of cheap liquor.
I strode across my room and took a rubber band from my dresser. After tying my hair back, I opened my door and stepped softly into the hallway. My father's light was on, which meant he probably just got home. I pushed his door open and entered his office.
"Hey Ruth." He turned in his chair and smiled at me. "Why are you up so late?"
I shrugged. "I had another nightmare."
Dad's eyes narrowed for a moment before changing back to normal. "Another one?" He chuckled. "I find it hard to believe that Ruthless Ruthie could even have nightmares."
Ruthless Ruthie was my father's pet name for me. I was one of the best assassins in his agency. Although, I wasn't the youngest. There was a little 10 year old boy named Taylor who I was currently training. But he wasn't nearly as advanced as I was at his age. He couldn't even hold a knife correctly.
Father placed a file in a manila folder and handed it to me. "While you're up, why don't we go for a drive. I need to show you something."
I grinned. "Are you giving me another assignment?" I loved bragging to the other assassins about how I get all the good assignments. "Well, of course," they always retort, clearly jealous. "Your father's the head of the agency."
"Yes." Dad answered. I followed him to the car.
"Who?" I questioned, eager to get started.
"His name is Michael Quinn," he explained as we pulled out of the driveway. "I'll drive you past his house so you can determine how you wish to get in."
I opened the folder and skimmed through its contents. "Why should we bother killing a Computer Technician?"
"Ruth."
"Right. Sorry, Dad." Even though I was his daughter, I still wasn't allowed to know the full details. Of course, I never once hesitated to ask. I figured someone will have to take over sometime. And I wanted to make it obvious that I wanted to be in the running.
The file included a picture of the target, his house, his family, even his pets. It also contained everyone's schedule, so I didn't show up when everyone was home. Unfortunately, if that were to happen, I'd have to kill two. Maybe three. I didn't really mind that, but Father seemed to. The way I saw it, the world wouldn't miss another human.
"Here we are." We were parked across from Michael's house. It wasn't very large, and looked relatively easy to sneak into. He didn't seem to be the type to lock his doors. I smirked to myself. This would be too easy.
"I think I'm good," I stated. "This house looks pathetic. Even if there is a lock, it'd certainly be easy to pick."
"Never be too overconfident, Ruth." Dad advised as we drove down the street.
"I know. Don't worry." I didn't need reminding; I'd been doing this for years. In fact, I don't remember a time when I wasn't training for this. I'd always been an assassin. I always will be.
It was my job.
It was finally the day of Michael Quinn's death. I had been studying the map of his house for hours, going over my routine in my head. If everything went well, I'd be done in less than ten minutes.
I checked to make sure I had everything before heading out. My father had left to take care of things of his own, and it was my responsibility to get to the Quinn house and back. It wouldn't be hard. After all, I was just a cute little girl taking an afternoon walk. My gun was completely hidden.
The streets were littered with teenagers, as the schools had just let out. It didn't bother me. It actually helped me blend in even more. Those pathetic teenagers. They'll never know what it's like to live. To be able to have an exciting job. I grinned. They'll all end up like Michael Quinn.
I stepped onto the Quinn's driveway as naturally as a daughter returning home from school. I then simply walked up to the door and pushed it open. As I thought, it hadn't even been locked. It was quiet inside. I stepped over a few crayon drawings, most likely drawn by his son. I pulled out my gun, caressing the smooth metal. I silently stalked up the stairs and followed the hallway to the master suite.
Sure enough, Michael Quinn was sitting in front of his computer, his back facing me. I've got him. He'll never know what hit him… I raised my gun, pointing it at the back of his head. One shot and he's down. I placed my finger on the trigger. Three, two…
BANG!
I stumbled back, startled. Michael Quinn stood facing me, a gun in his hands. "Government sent a puny little girl to kill me?" His hands were shaking. "Knew you were coming. Knew it all along…" He muttered, clearly terrified.
I growled to myself as I once again raised my gun. How'd he know? I soon realized my mistake.
The computer.
He saw my reflection in the computer screen! How could I have been so stupid!
I tuned my attention back to my target. He was still shaking, unsure of whether or not he should fire at a young girl. I took my chance and fired my gun. Suddenly, Michael bolted to the side and then lunged at me, dodging my bullet.
I was knocked to the ground and Michael's gun was pointing down at me. He tried to grab the gun out of my hands, but I was kicking and squirming around too much. It was only a few moments before I was able to jump up and away from him.
He motioned to lift his gun, but soon realized that it was no longer in his trembling hand.
I smiled down at him as I pointed both guns at his head.
"P-p-please," he stuttered, as he scooted himself against the wall. "I have two children…"
I frowned. They're so annoying when they beg.
I pulled both triggers.
Michael Quinn's body slumped onto the carpet, blood flowing from the two holes in his temple.
I threw his gun down next to his body before exiting out the back door. I strutted down the street as carefree and innocent as any other child on a Wednesday afternoon. There weren't many students left in the streets; they'd all gone home. The few that were left were talking on their phones, waiting for their rides to pick them up.
I was still a bit frustrated at how everything went. I should of known my reflection would show! Why? I kicked a rock on the sidewalk. Why was I so stupid?
"Hey!" Someone called from behind me. "Hey, wait up!"
I turned to see a boy running up to me. He looked to be in his late teens. Great! Did he see something? I glared at him, not trying to hide the fact that I was annoyed. "What?" I demanded.
He looked uneasy for a moment. "Uh, I was just wondering if you've seen anyone in a green Cadillac."
I sighed. "No. I'm afraid I don't closely examine every car that drives past me."
He looked defeated. "Oh. Ok, sorry. Thank you." I was about to leave when he added. "If you see one, could you tell the driver to please stop with the jokes and return it to me."
"No." I responded dryly. I then turned and strutted away.
"Hey! Wait!" He called after me as he ran to catch up. "What's your problem? That car is expensive! And it's not like it would take much effort."
I pushed him away. "Well maybe you shouldn't have let your irresponsible friend borrow it!"
"Hey, how'd you know-"
"Besides," I added, "the chances of me seeing a green Cadillac are extremely slim."
"You sure are a bratty little girl, aren't you?"
I glared at him, offended. "So it seems." I retorted. I then returned on my journey home.
"Wait a minute!" He yelled. Oh, I don't have the patience for this! I turned and slammed the boy in the face with my fist, leaving him puzzled on the side of the road. Luckily, no one was around to see. And even if one did, could they really blame me?
I slammed the front door behind me and stormed up to my room. I threw my gun on my bed and quickly changed.
"What's the matter, Ruth?" I heard my father ask from outside my door. "Did everything go okay?"
For a moment I couldn't answer. No, things didn't go right. I nearly lost. "Yes," I finally responded. "Everything went fine."
"Good. That's good." He paused. "Good work." I heard him step down the hall to his office, where he shut the door with a click.
I lay on my bed, next to my gun. I realized that I was always in a bad mood for a few hours after killing someone. I never really understood why, because I couldn't care less about the person. All I knew was that something inside of me always seemed to be regretful.
Hopefully, whatever it is, it won't surface.
It wasn't long before I drifted into sleep.
Ruthless Ruthie! How can I sit back and allow myself to be called such a name? From a man who doesn't even love me! A man who only cares about using me for his agency. I'm just a pawn in his game. I'm a replaceable pawn! Why can't I realize that? Why can't I surface? That girl. That monster that lives during the day, that monster that takes over my conscious body…She's so oblivious… Why doesn't she realize? Why can't she realize?
I hate myself.
I hate what I am.
I hate what I have to do. What they make me do.
I want to die.
Kill me.
Please, kill me.
Why won't you kill me?
Why won't you kill me?!!
I awoke from my nightmare, as I always do. I sat up and held my head in my hands. Why? Why do these dreams bug me so much? It seemed to me that they shouldn't bother me one bit. It's perfectly normal to have nightmares.
Isn't it?
I glanced at my clock. It was 7 in the morning. I figured I should take a walk. Maybe it'd help clear my mind.
I left a note on my door, just incase my father wondered where I was.
He never did. He wasn't really the type to be freakishly overprotective.
I was walking the same path as the day before. Maybe I'll go check on the Quinn house while I'm out. There were a few students out on their way to school. Not very many, though. Public schools didn't start until around 8:30. I was about to cross through a park when I head a familiar voice behind me. "Hey, girl!"
Scowling, I turned to see the annoying boy from the day before running up to me. "I thought you'd get the picture," I stated.
"Oh, don't worry," He felt his face where I'd hit him. "I did." He paused. "I just wanted to apologize for being so persistent. It's just, that car belongs to my parents and they would have killed me if I'd lost it."
"So, you found it?" I asked.
"Uh, yes. My friend returned it last night. He'd just been trying to be funny. I slugged him for it." He laughed. "He does stuff like that all the time. I suppose I should be used to it. I should even see it coming!"
Something's odd about him.
"Is it normal," I began, "Is it normal for teenage boys to speak so much to a girl who they don't really know? Or are you just weird?"
The boy stared blankly at me for a moment before bursting out laughing. "I guess I am weird! I'm just not used to people giving me lip. Most people are scared to speak up to me, you see."
I looked him over and soon understood what he was talking about. He was dressed like the kid in school who you really didn't want to mess with. "I see." I admitted. "Honestly, though, you don't scare me one bit."
"Honestly, you scare me."
"Really now?" I asked. He should be scared of me. Nevertheless, I thought it was odd. I was just a 13 year old girl.
"Still," he added. "I think you're very interesting."
Huh? I froze. Me? Interesting? He doesn't even know the coolest thing about me, and he thinks I'm interesting?
This. This isn't right. This is weird. Unusual.
"Whatever you say." I mumbled. What's wrong with me? Why am I suddenly so shy? And in front of some stupid boy!
"Hey, are you headed anywhere?" He asked, shaking me from my thoughts.
"Nowhere in particular," I replied, forgetting that I wanted to stop by the Quinn's. "I was just out for a walk."
"Would you mind if I joined you?"
Yes. I don't want to get involved with an outsider. "No."
We began walking slowly towards the high school. I felt uneasy, yet something inside of me kept me from turning away.
"So, what's your name?" I didn't answer. Should I give him my real name? I mean, it's not like he knows anything about me. Nobody outside of the agency knows about me. "My name is Matthew."
"I'm Ruth." Shut up! Why am I telling him this?
"Do you go to the junior high?"
"No. I'm home schooled."
"Lucky! I'd kill to be home schooled!" He chuckled. "It'd be so awesome to get to sleep in every day! And I'd never have to get dressed up!"
"It's not really all that great." What? Of course it is! I'd hate to have to be stuck around a bunch of dumb kids! Why am I saying such things? "I'm never around anyone other than my dad. I never really get to socialize…"
"I see…" Matthew sighed. "Now that I think about it, I guess public schools not so bad."
"Why so quick to change your tune?" I questioned, annoyed that he believed public school was better than home school.
"Well, it seems like it'd be boring only hanging around your parents. And, like you said earlier, I'd never get to socialize. Where's the fun in that? In the end, I guess it's always fun meeting new people and learning about them. Getting to know them. Becoming friends." He paused. "In the end, everyone has some sort of fun personality hidden inside them."
I froze. Something inside me was agreeing with him. Something inside me seemed to long for what he had. But why?
"You okay?" Matthew asked, worried.
"Huh? Yes. I'm fine." I thought for a moment. "But aren't people basically all the same?" Why was I asking him this?
He stopped walking. "Of course not! What makes you think that?"
"I don't know," I muttered, staring at the ground. I had a bad headache. I want to go home. I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't be socializing.
"Everyone is different. Everyone has their own, unique life. And even if they're not famous or well-known, they're loved by many people. Take you for example."
I looked at him, confused.
"You may be just another girl out of a billion, but you have your own personality. You have your own life. And even if someone across the city wouldn't care if you disappeared, me and your family surely would. You're important to us, because we know you."
He was right. No, he's wrong! Turn around, Ruth. Turn around and go home.
We had reached the high school. There were hundreds of teenagers walking around, talking, laughing, crying. I found myself glaring at them. They're all worthless, insignificant little ants. But, didn't Matthew just say that everyone has an individual personality? An individual life. That's what makes them different than each other.
I was so confused.
I heard the faint sound of an ambulance. Matthew cringed. "I'm mentally scared from sirens now."
"Why?" I asked.
"Last night, I heard so many of them."
"What?"
"Last night, not long after you socked me in the face, I found out that my neighbor, Michael, had been murdered."
My heart froze.
"He worked alongside my father. He was such a nice man. He never looked down on me. I even ditched school once to hang out with him. He never seemed to get angry." Matthews gaze lowered, and a sad smile crept on his face. I thought for a moment that he might cry. "Why do such horrible things happen to such good people?"
I felt a strong pain in my chest as all of what Matthew had said that morning sunk into me. What is this feeling? Why am I hurting? It's my job! I love my job!
My God, what have I been doing?
"I have to go." I stammered. Before Matthew could say anything, I had run down the road and through the park. Wait! Where am I going? This isn't the way home! In a matter of minutes, I found myself standing outside Michael Quinn's house. A police car was parked outside. I recognized his daughter and son from the pictures in my packet. They were sitting out on the lawn, holding each other.
They're so young.
They're just 2 out of a billion.
They didn't do anything.
Why should that matter?
They've lost their father.
Kids lose their parents every day! I lost mine!
I killed their father.
Something inside me began to scream at that moment. It was as if another part of me, the innocent, human part, seemed to wake up. It had been fighting for two years, waiting for me to hear. Yelling at me to realize that what I'd been doing is cruel and wrong.
This time I listened.
I ran home and burst into my dad's office. "Ruth!" He gasped as I collapsed in front of him.
"Daddy! Why?" I felt tears run down my cheeks. I couldn't even remember the last time I had cried. "Why did you make me do this? I'm only 13? How could you stand by and let me murder people?"
I peered into his eyes, and was shocked to find them glaring back. "Ruth." He knelt down. "Ruth, they're just bugs. They're taking up valuable space. Killing one hardly changes a thing."
He's right. No. No, he's not! There's no way I'm going to give in now that I've finally awakened!
"No. It's just like he said. There may be hundreds, but all of them are different! He had a family! He had friends!"
My father grabbed my arm and dragged me into my room. "Now, you'll listen to me! I didn't put up with you for all these years just to have you flake out on me now!" He threw my to the floor. "Now I don't know what got into you, but you better get rid of it by tonight! You have another assignment, and I will personally make sure that it is accomplished!"
The man I had for so long looked up to slammed my door and stormed back into his office.
Why? Why did I let it become like this? I could have stopped it all! Why? I'm so weak! Letting myself be used by that man! He doesn't deserve to be called my Father.
I know what will happen.
I'm going to push this day aside. Act like it never occurred. After I was so close, too. Ruth, please. Please listen to me! When I wake up, let me be in control! Let the human Ruth, the real Ruth, win over the assassin!
Oh, God. I'm terrible. I've ruined so many families! So many lives! Why? Why?
I hate myself.
I hate what I am.
I hate what I have to do. What they make me do.
I want to die.
Kill me.
Please, kill me.
Why won't you kill me?
Why won't you kill me?!!
I sat up in my bed, eyes swollen from my fit the night before. Father was right. I need to get over myself. I calmly got up and changed clothes. I grabbed my gun and stared at it. Such a small thing ruined so many lives. Stop! Stop thinking such thoughts! I shook my head.
I met my father in the car. "I'm sorry." I stated as I fastened my seatbelt. "You're right. I must've been sick or something." I laughed a tired, dry laugh.
"You'd better been sick." He responded gruffly. He pulled out of the driveway and onto the road.
A few minutes later, we stopped outside the Quinn's neighborhood.
"What?" I questioned. "what are we doing here?"
"Just get out." My father ordered.
I followed him down the street towards Michael's house. We stopped at the house next to it.
"What?" I asked.
"You need to take care of a Samuel Lewis. He was involved in the same incident as Mr. Michael Quinn." He paused. "Do you understand, Ruth."
"Yes."
I entered the house through the back door; my father waited outside. The T.V. was on and I heard multiple voices. Shouldn't we have waited until we were sure only Samuel was home?
Turning the corner, I was horrified to see Matthew speaking with an older man. Neither of them could see me.
Matthew? What's he…
My eyes widened with shock. No! I have to kill Matthew's father? It's just another body to put in the dirt. It doesn't matter.
Matthew's the only person who actually spoke with me.
Not true. What about Taylor? What about all the other assassins? In fact, they all look up to me!
I can't do this.
Yes I can. I have to. It's my job!
I exhaled slowly. I'd always been an assassin. I'd always be an assassin. There was no escape.
I pulled my gun out as I turned the corner.
"What the?" Samuel yelled, as Matthew turned to look. "Who are you?"
"Ruth?" Matthew asked, squinting as if unsure of what he was seeing. "What are you-?" His eyes widened with terror. "You. It was you."
I pointed the gun at his father, who had lifted his hands into the air, as if trying to surrender.
"Why?" Matthew asked as he stepped in front of his father. "Why would you do such a thing? To my father? To Mr. Quinn?"
"Move, or I'll kill you too!" I shouted. I glared at him through narrowed eyes.
Matthew shook his head. "No."
Pull the trigger, Ruth. Now!
Why can't I pull the trigger?!
"Michael had two children, you know! He had a wife! He had a life, a future! You, you took that away!" He was crying. His father was trying to get in front, but he wouldn't let him. "And now, now you want to kill my father as well? He has a family too! He has a wife and a son!" He got on his knees. "Please," he gasped. "Please don't take him away from me!"
My heart stopped.
Shoot him!
I cant.
Shoot him!
No!
Shoot him, now!
No!
I fell to my knees, tears streaming once again.
I had tried so hard to forget was Matthew had helped me discover, but I couldn't… I thought that by killing one more, I would be able to get past what I figured out yesterday.
But I knew I couldn't.
For the past two years, I had been trying so hard to wake up. To finally see the reality. I had been trying to take control of the monster that man had turned me into! I had been crying out to myself in my sleep, begging for my life to change.
Begging to stop this brutality.
Finally. Finally, I was able to overpower the assassin Ruth. I was able to overthrow Ruthless Ruthie.
But I was too late.
I had already ruined so many, wonderful, beautiful lives.
I hated myself.
"I hate myself," I muttered under my breath. "I hate myself!" I screamed. "I hate what I am!"
I saw my father enter the room, stone faced. He pointed his gun at me.
"Ruth. Finish the job." He paused. "Now."
I shook my head, tears falling to the floor. "I hate what I am! I hate what I have to do! What they make me do. What you make me do!"
He turned his gun to Matthew and his father.
"No!" I screamed, as I lifted my own gun. "I'll do it!" I felt my hands shaking.
My father lowered his gun, and an evil grin spread through his face.
"Three. Two." Samuel and Matthew both closed their eyes tight. "One."
BANG!
My father fell to the ground, his head bleeding onto the carpet.
I put my arms around myself as I sobbed miserably.
I wanted to die.
Matthew left his father in shock and approached me slowly. He reached out his hand.
"I want to die," I mumbled, shaking. "I want to die! I want to die!" I began screaming. "I want to die! Kill me! Please, kill me!" Matthew sat in front of me and I looked into his eyes. "Why won't you kill me? Why wont you kill me?!" My only friend then put his arms around me, pulling me close to him. My tears dripped onto his shirt. "Why wont you kill me?" I stuttered.
He kept holding me, waiting for me to calm down.
Matthew had taught me so much. He had made everything clear. He had helped me overpower the assassin that had for too long controlled me. I was finally free.
I slowly lifted my gun and shakily aimed it at my own head.
"Thank-you," I whispered. "Three. Two. One."
Before Matthew or Samuel could react, I pulled the trigger.
