When Anton Chigurh lost his parents, he never thought that when he reached adulthood that he would become the one thing he feared most: a cold-blooded killer.
Orphaned at the tender age of five, Anton grew up into a rough childhood. Scarred from the horrible nightmares that would plague his mind forever, he kept to himself most of the time, never showing his emotions and speaking in a low, menacing voice. Throughout the years, the poisonous thoughts of murder slowly crept through his brain as he aged, waiting for just the right moment to strike, to attack, to kill.
Checking the bottom of his cowboy boots for any trace of blood, Anton Chigurh, now a professional hitman of 30 something, had made his final move in the cat-and-mouse game that had taken course over the last few days. Little did he know was that fate would soon no longer be in his command.
Driving through the suburban in total silence, Anton was suddenly blindsided by an oncoming car that ran through a red light. He felt himself slam hard against the door, as a shower of glass rained down on him and a tearing pain stabbed through his left arm.
It took him a minute to understand what had just happened. As he opened the door and stepped out of the car, Anton stumbled and groaned in pain. Standing up on shaky legs, the hitman shut the door and slowly limped over to the curb. Sitting himself down, Anton looked at his left arm and saw the long sleeve of his shirt had been ripped open. Carefully pulling back the bloodied clothing, Anton reacted mildly to the bit of broken bone that had penetrated through his skin during the impact.
Two young boys about ten and twelve years old rode up to him on their bikes and asked him if he was hurt.
"I'm all right. Let me just sit here a minute", said Anton, nonchalantly.
"Mister, you got a bone sticking out of your arm", one of the boys noted.
Hearing sirens in the distance, Anton looked at the boys for a minute and asked one of them, "What do you take for the shirt?"
"Hell, mister. I'll give you my shirt", said the boy.
Anton asked the young gentleman to tie the shirt into a sling, while he reached into his pocket for something.
The boy handed Anton the shirt that was now tied into a makeshift sling. The hitman put it over his neck and carefully placed his damaged arm into it, hoping to elevate the blood flow.
"Here", said Anton, handing the boy a one-hundred dollar bill. "Take this. Take it and...you didn't see me."
The boy took the money without hesitation, as Anton slowly got up to his feet. Limping away from the scene as though nothing had happened, the hitman looked forward and never looked back. Though he was beaten and bruised from the car accident, the only thing that mattered to him right now was to get as far away from civilization as possible. Somewhere no one would ever find him.
Several hours had past and night was starting to dim over the Western landscape. The adrenaline he felt from the car crash was starting to wear off, but Anton knew that he could not stop now. Though he was far away from anyone seeing him out in the middle of nowhere, he was not about to risk being caught and taken down like some rotten criminal. The further he was, the safer he'd be.
Delusional from the loss of blood and the heat of the sun, Anton finally collapsed onto his knees somewhere on the outskirts of Odessa. Groaning in pain, the hitman started to breathe heavily and looked at his arm, the shirt-sling now completely drenched in his own blood. Despite his knowledge of medicine, Anton knew damn well that the seriousness of his injuries were now likely to put him out of his occupation. Whether it would be just for a few months or permanent, he was afraid to know. He had personally managed to heal his own leg wound just a few days ago, but never before had he ever experienced anything like this. A few cuts and a bruised eye were nothing, but an open fracture was something far beyond his control. Without medical aid, he was likely to die.
A feeling of dizziness was starting to take control of him, as a white light suddenly shined in front of him. Half-conscious, Anton slowly looked up and tried to see who it was. His vision turned into a series of blurs that could barely make out the silhouette of another human being before everything went black.
Slipping in and out of consciousness, Anton could hear the sound of his own rapid breathing and weak heartbeat. He opened his eyes and found himself staring up at the ceiling of a car. Once in a while, he heard the sound of a woman's voice speaking to him, but he could not make out what she was saying. He blacked out again and when he came through, Anton felt a slender hand carefully run across his left arm and the bone that stuck out of it. "No, please", he heard himself say. He opened his eyes and saw the face of a young lady appear before him. Her long hair like brown silk, her eyes blue as turquoise. Her lips moved, but no sound came from her throat. The last thing he remembered was a damp cloth washing away the blood from his face, before a needle of morphine sent him off into the deep tranquility of sleep.