Assasins

Dreams

A/n

Just real quick this is probably gonna be short but I'll update again soon.

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Cecilia's POV

I don't rest well. Not even close to well. I'm burdened with multiple dreams of my parents. In the first one My mother stands, she's yelling at me but I don't know what she's saying.

"Speak up, Mom. I can't hear you." I say. Her mouth keeps moving.

"Mom I can't hear you!" I raise my voice. She keeps talking.

"Mom, I can't hear you." I yell and continue to yell at her. She shoves me away from her and out of a door that has materialized. Everything fades away once I'm out of the door. Suddenly I'm surrounded by green jungle foliage. A bead of sweat rolls down my neck as I see something move. It's just a flash of long black hair. I move towards it. I see the back of a woman's figure. It's my mother.

"Mom!" I call out loudly. A man joins her. My father. They join hands and run from me. I start following there running figures. More sweat pours down my face as they stop. I call for them again. The humidity here is unbearable. Green leaves slap my face leaving scratches on my face. They start to run again. I pick up my pace. I reach out and almost touch my mothers shoulder but just as I reach she picks up her pace as well. My father falls slightly behind as we start to weave through trees. I reach out for him. I grab his shoulder and yank him to a stop. He and my mother both stop. They began to melt and I scream. I close my eyes and scream again. When I open my eyes again I'm staring at the ceiling of the hotel. I remember where I am and sigh. My parents are dead, they aren't coming back. The last time I saw my mother I was six months old and she sent my eleven year old brother and me on a scavenger to find my Grandfather. She died later on that night. I heard she defended her position well but she was shot by her former boss. My father returned from war and then raised my brother and I until I was ten years old. Then war called him back. He was killed seven months later. It was then we learned about the business my mother was in from my grandfather. I told him that I wanted nothing to do with this business, I wanted to be a Marine just like my father, I wanted to die with honor to my name. One thing I've learned as an assassin, however, is that there is no glorious way to perish. My grandfather spoke to me religiously about being a marine. He died when I was sixteen, he had had a heart attack leaving only my brother. Now I'm here I am sitting here fantasizing about being with them. It would be easy. I promised my grandfather on his death bed that I would never commit suicide.

"Cecilia Anne Andrews," he had started. "Promise me that whatever you end up doing you will never commit suicide. It's the cowardly way out. Do not disgrace yourself by doing it." He had said in his gruff voice. I answered back "I promise Papa." And the next day he was gone. So why, if I remember my promise to my dear grandfather, am I finding myself staring down the barrel of my brothers pistol?