Eroding Night: The Assassin

"I've gotta break outta this poisoned prisoned mentality,
I baffle me, because I know these bitches is after me,
Yet instead of reclusive, I go for anti-afraid,
And get these motha-fuckas back when I come back from my grave..."

Even now, with this government-issued sniper rifle aimed at his neck, I can recall the first time I heard his lyrics. Ralph, my older cousin, let me borrow his mixtape before he even got mainstream. I had to listen to it on the headphones so my parents couldn't hear. But even then, over time, it would be the only thing they'd hear blasting from my bedroom. I tried to rap like him, fall into his shadow in hopes that he'd catch me one day. I dreamed of opening for one of his shows. Don't get me wrong, I had my own style and all, but it was his passion that I aimed to mimic. He believed every word he said. Every line he spit on the mic came directly from the depths of his soul and particle of his being. My dream of following him was short-lived though, as the government started putting tighter wraps on public expression.

"...Fuck a W-2, I gotta pay for this food,
I gotta pay for this heat, and gotta pay when its due,
I gotta a baby and a lady that depend on me too,
I don't depend on them fools, I only get what I'm due..."

My dad told me that artists used to express themselves all the time in his day. Not only expressing themselves for themselves though, but for the people. They took messages for the masses and broadcast them over the airwaves...even performing them live to the masses themselves. People didn't used to have to sneak around to listen to them, or meet privately to enjoy the sounds. According to my dad, there were countless musicians that vied for just the chance to be heard, to make their mark on history. But now, after the ban, there's only Eroding Night, or rather, what's left of them, their lead rapper, Righteous.

"...And I swear by every hair of my son's firstborn,
I'll never fall off, because God put me on,
kicked the knowledge to me straight and told me 'Righteous, Hold Strong'
Cuz there is someone out there listening that needs to feel this song
And to that one, I hope you get it,
To the two, I hope you share it,
To the three, I pray you feel it, Because on my life I bear it,
To the people that believe it and the mighty that can see it,
Come together as a people, and together we'll defeat it..."

So my options became limited. But I became tough as I grew older and found that I had a talent for fighting. Then I discovered that it was less of a talent, and more of a lack of consideration for human suffering. I quickly fell into the cracks of the Alleyways, becoming one of the most efficient killers money could buy. Not to brag. At first, it was petty, women going after their cheating husbands, corporate jerkoffs getting rid of some asswipe standing in the way of their money. Then I would start getting jobs from from random middle-men sending me cross-country and overseas. They jobs started becoming more tedious, and difficult due to heightened levels of security. All in all though, I never thought it'd bring me here.

With my finger resting on the trigger of this light, superbly crafted rifle, I watch Righteous through the scope of the gun. The underground concerts were gaining ground, and everyone in the streets knew about them. I keel telling myself that it's partly his fault, but, I know that that's not true. And even if I put the gun down now, they'll only find someone else. Someone that will kill this man with much less poise and candor. With no dignity. With no respect for who this man is. My phone rings.

"Hello. Yeah. Here. 1 minute. Less. Lighting problems. Fine."

I should have killed him 15 minutes ago. But I figured I'd let him finish the set.

"...and when my light's out, remember me,
don't cry, remember me,
but still, more than me, keep the message in your memory,
these streets are yours, have been, and will forever be,
keep love in your heart, and your mind..."

"...on the peace." I whisper. Cutting him short in just enough poetic fashion for it to be memorable. The venue is not large, so the crowd hears the shot. But it takes everyone a little under ten seconds to realize what is happening. I've taken the ten seconds to drop the rifle and walk away. No prints. One bullet. Casing in my pocket.

I join the others running outside for safety. Some are crying. Others are furious. I am both. I am paid. I am the tool of destruction and the calamity in the midst of peace. I am a product of my environment and the by-product of my society. This will change everything. This will be what was always necessary. This is what I've told myself to survive.