2004-03-01-9:08 p.m.
I finished my fiction story. I really don't want to post it because in many small ways the story isn't finished.

But I posted the story on BlackBoard and my class is reviewing it on Thursday night so everyone else on D-land deserves a crack at this story as well. Be warned... this will get edited after Thursday (and it's also 12 pages long)

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Mason Son of Alexander

The rays of the sun made the only colors in the room gold and orange. Mason laid on the bed without a shirt on; he was staring up into Callie’s eyes. She combed her fingers through his hair; entranced by the eyes of a woman. He whispered for Callie to sing him one more song. Smiling, she sang softly into his ear.

~**~

Snow started to trickle over the rooftop of the building. Mason blocked a man on his knees from Callie’s vision. Beautiful Callie, she smirked like the devil at a potential sinner. Laughter tumbled out at finding Mason conveniently where she was required. It was cracked laughter where at any moment it could breakdown into crying fits and frustration. She drew her gun and pointed it at Mason’s head.

~**~

It was over in four seconds.

The Hired Hand threw a fast punch towards Mason’s head. Hired Hand was quick and tall to match his lengthy arms. Mason’s experience was innate where he didn’t have to think at all. Not thinking, as in turning on a light without realizing it or driving down a familiar road. It was so damn natural that it was unnatural to the observer and painful to the participant.

To the horror of the Hired Hand, he became the participant.

Mason stepped to the left of the punch, grabbing his wrist roughly in one hand and breaking the arm at the elbow with the other. Pain bellowed from Hired Hand drawing all his attention to his useless arm. Still holding on, Mason’s body leaned back to release a sidekick that broke several ribs silencing the bellow. Mason moved in, his elbow slammed Hired Hand’s jaw and the elbow transformed instantly to a back-fist making his nose bloody and broken. Mason finished up with his hands cupped around Hired Hands neck, ready to snap it.

“Give up?” Mason’s words were rushed and blunt underlining that he would kill him if the answer was no. Hired Hand squeaked a yes and he let go of the neck allowing the broken man to fall to the ground.

Mason turned his attention to Glenn sitting in his chair. Mason stood silently in front of Glenn like any trained attack dog would. Hired Hand was blubbering and moaning on the ground. Two men watching the fight quickly carried Hired Hand out of the room, the mechanical door locking behind them.

They were alone. Glenn crossed his legs and finally spoke. “That was the last part of your test. I’m pleased to say that you pasted every section. You showed ruthlessness in your skill and yet control in such a bloody way.” He paused allowing his words to echo through the room. He savored them as they faded into the emptiness. “You are now an Assassin. You rob children of their lives and the elderly receive no pity. Good or evil, the judgment is without favor. Above God Himself, destroying the process of the divine life willingly without recompense.”

Glenn leaned forward, hands gripping the armrests and his voice boomed in the room. “Why Mason? God damn it, why would you want to be an Assassin? Don’t you have a compassionate, merciful bone in your body?” Mason looked up as he was addressed and spoke,“ I was bred for killing, this is who I am.”

Glenn hissed a whisper, “How long have you known blood?”

Mason’s body was straight and unmoving, “ My father was an assassin, he took me out to watch kills since I was eight and then when I was ready, I started killing at 12. My father taught me how to kill with my hands and with weapons.”

Glenn narrowed his gray eyes and said, “Who was your father?”

Mason said the name quietly, “Alexander, that was my father’s name.”

Glenn smirked flashing his white teeth, “That name gets around, Mason son of Alexander. It looks like you have some very big boots to fill.” Glenn laughed mechanically and gripped Mason’s shoulder firmly. Suddenly stopping his laughter, his voice got deep and serious, “Now get the hell out. Our talk is done.”

~**~

The rhythmic humming of the ship’s engines faded into the background. Callie sat on the sofa. In front of her was a table, knee high, with a dusty old tablecloth. She slowly cleaned her handgun, wiping away the dirt with care. Her deep brown eyes looked past the gun, a daydream gaze of longing.

Mason strolled towards Callie from down a stair well. He was wearing cowboy boots, jeans, and a buttoned up dusty-white shirt. Eyeing her tight black cloth outfit with enjoyment and then noticing her out-there face, he jumped over the sofa opposite of Callie and grinned widely, “Looks like somebody is getting ready for a hot date!”

Callie smirked, “Oh really?”

Mason nodded slowly and crumpled his face as if he was a wise old man, “Yes, the tight black outfit gave it away, but I don’t see your usual leather whip and black lipstick!” Callie moved to slap Mason and he caught the hand with ease.

“Now is that any way to treat an old man?” Mason said, licking his lips crudely and starting to lean in slowly for a kiss. Callie followed suit, embracing Mason. Just before they could meet lips, Mason felt a something sharp poking his chest.

Callie talked softly, “Getting sloppy, Mason?”

He meet her voice in level, “Love is sloppy; for that brief moment I’m left open to glimpse at heaven and then death.”

Callie raised an eyebrow, “Was it worth it?”

Mason winked at her, “Kill me and I’ll tell you later.”

She laughed and when she did it was it’s own genre of music, “Don’t die yet. We still have a job to do, remember?”

Mason leaned on Callie looking up at her and said, “How could I ever forget? I am Death himself.”

She rubbed Mason’s arm with her hand, feeling his strong built, “We are Death you mean. We kill together, Mason.”

Suddenly the intercom clicked on, “Attention, we will be landing in 45 minutes. As always, prepare your final checks on gears and weapons.”

Mason started to go to his room and said, “We kill together, but I could kill with anyone or even kill alone.” Callie watched him leave, her heart tightening when she heard “alone.”

~**~

Alexander stood over the Mason’s bed, watching him sleep. “Wake up.” Alexander ripped the sheets away, “BOY, GET GOING!” Mason jumped up and stared at his father in disillusion. Alexander started to leave the room, “Today is the start of your manhood. Meet outside in workout clothes.”

Alexander folded his arms tightly against his chest and he looked down upon the child running a hand through his long hair and quickly tying it back. Alexander squatted down, and threw a punch. “Mimic my posture.” Mason awkwardly squatted down, feeling his muscles shake and burn. He threw the punch, exposing his bony arm. Alexander hit his knuckle with a slap making Mason cradle his hand. Alexander always felt amusement in correcting such novice mistakes, “Make that fist tight. Keep punching, we’ll hold this stance for 30 minutes.” Mason moaned but Alexander gave no comfort, “I don’t want to hear moaning, I want to hear you breathe out when you punch.” Alexander breathed out so hard that his spit sprayed. Mason’s punching didn’t show emotion, but Alexander would continually release loud, manly guttural noises.

The 30 minutes were done and instantly Alexander got down for pushups. “Come on Boy, I’m giving your legs a break! Pushups!” Alexander, continuous in movement, showed no signs of fatigue. He occasionally would mutter under his breath, “Yah… Yah…Come on!” as if making love to an extremely small woman crushed under him. Mason then fell on his face from muscle exhaustion. Alexander bounded up, “Damn, that was a good run. I’m proud of you Boy.” Mason lifted his head up to see his father; he couldn’t get off the ground. Alexander slapped his hands together, “A five minute break and then we’ll start kicks.” Mason rolled on to his back and moaned again.

~**~

A man came out of a business building and started briskly down the street. The hour was late and the street was silent. His hands were strained with sweat; his lips disappeared under the ghost white of his skin, and a heartbeat drilled in his throat. He felt pressure on his shoulder and whirling around he saw nothing. Laughter was distant, a stigma burned on his shoulder by hell. Laughter, he cradled his shoulder and it snaked closer. Laughter was right next to him, malice screaming, Satan calling his chant, “death…death.” Panic drew him into running and Satan at his side made the fires rise up around him, “DEATH!” He opened his mouth to scream, but there was no sound.

Callie was straddled on top of the man, furiously slashing at his throat with a knife. The blood gushed up splashing her face and she let out a grunt with the final stab. She leaned her hands on the dead body’s shoulders and hunched over. Gasping for air, satisfaction was the taste on her lips, the taste of blood.

Mason stood over Callie saying, “Hey, you ok?”

She flipped her head up, the gore oozing down her face, tongue licking her lips, “Better than ok, Mason.” Mason tripped back at the sight.

Callie rose from the dead body and rapped her arms around Mason, “Come on lover, our job is done. Let’s go.” Mason kissed her forehead, trying not to taste the blood.

~**~

Alexander snorted at the sight of Mason, “Damn Boy, you got your ass kicked today during practice. Make sure you mark all the bloody and bruised areas so they won’t get that way next time.”

Mason with a cut lip and a sore chest and head responded, “Yes Father.”

Alexander nodded and then sat next to Mason but no words were exchanged. Mason stared at the grass and rubbed his skin that was engraved with dirt. Alexander sat with straight posture, just staring at the horizon. Mason broke the silence, “Father, how did Mother die?” Alexander flinched and he kept silent. Mason spoke up a little bit louder, “Father?”

Alexander talked with annoyance, “I told you before, she died of illness.”

Mason responded with silence, and then spoke up again, “What type of illness?

Alexander faced Mason, “Why does it matter Mason? She’s dead and you were too young.”

Mason lowered his voice, afraid to push the issue, “But she was my Mother.” Alexander stormed off, throwing profanities as he went. Confused, Mason sat alone continuing to stare down.

~**~

Callie struggled for breath. She heaved a groan and gripped Mason’s shoulders digging her fingernails into his skin. Pushing Mason onto his back, she straddled him. She pounded against Mason, crushing his legs under the pressure, a hand hitting upon Mason’s chest and grinding faster, her body gleamed with sweat, smelling of sex, the friction of skin begging, yelling, burning orifices, breast gripping, finger biting, moaning, yelling, dieing. An explosion. Silence.

Mason sat at the edge of the bed and put his pants on. Callie hugged him from behind, “You’re such a bitch, Mason.”

He lightly bit her arm and Callie moaned in response. Mason said, “You’re just a rough sex addict.”

She rubbed his chest, clawing her hands down, “I like a good fuck. I straddled you just like our kill.” She laughed, “but he won’t walk away and it will take sometime for you to even use your legs.”

Mason rested his hands over Callie’s, “About the kill, you were too extreme. I didn’t even see you move and how you carved him up was brutal. We could have just shot him in the back of the head and dumped the body somewhere without all the mess.”

She moved away from Mason, her body radiating from the early morning sunshine. She bent down slowly in front of Mason to pickup her clothing; she smiled at him playfully, “Oh Mason, you’re so innocent. It doesn’t matter how he dies, Glenn requires us to finish the job anyway fit.” She licked her lips in remembrance, “It was thrilling and beautiful; my art of killing is love and light. My waist pressed hard against his, his mouth cracked and wide showing me the back of his red throat. And it called me; it told me that is where the blood lies. I released it and the blood showered me with life-force and his soul was released. I drank his blood and now we are one. Mason don’t you understand this beauty, this merging of souls, the art I have created?”

Mason didn’t move and stared at her for a minute and then finally spoke, “What are you saying? You slashed his throat for minutes. Maybe he had a family…”

Callie raised her voice, “A family? What the fuck, Mason? He’s our job, his family has nothing to do with it.”

Mason sighed, “Yah, I know. We just could have shot him and left. That’s all I’m saying.”

Callie put on a white tank top and sat next Mason on the bed in silence. Then softly, she sang. It was honeydew on the throat in small sounds and as her voice built up, it was the breath of the Supreme Being flowing through man. She stopped singing and said, “Mason, you are my lover, my partner. Give my love time to grow.”

Mason looked at her and said, “Please, sing me just one more song.”

~**~

“Are you sure about this Mason? This is nothing like a training exercise,” said Alexander who knew his son was ready, but goaded him to want the kill.

Mason smirked, “Father, I’m ready to enter.”

Alexander perked up his voice, “Are you sure now?”

Annoyed, Mason answered, “Yes! Let’s go.”

Mason kicked open the door of the cabin and sprinted inside. His gun was drawn and he looked around frantically for his object. Cuddled in a corner, was an old woman with fair skin to caress and long hair that was desirable. Her eyes hazel sprinkled tears down her cheeks and projected a feeling of melancholy to anyone who looked into them. Mason cocked his gun and aimed at her but her gaze made him hesitate. She spoke, “Young man, I know your trade and I am ready to die, but I must know one thing, did my husband pay you? Did he sign my death warrant?”

Mason kept his gun aimed, his hand started to shake, “If your husband name is Conall, then yes he did.”

The old woman sighed and wept, “Kill me then! He took my only son but even now I still love him.”

Mason heart dropped and said, “Your only son?”

The old woman talked louder in grief, “We bore him in my old age, he doesn’t even know me because he is a baby. Conall loved me and he despised me. His despise drew from his own self-loathing because he at one time was an assassin just like you. He ran away from himself, but no man can ever succeed. For the demons…they hide in your soul. They devour you whole if you don’t address them. Oh my husband, why did you kill…”

Gunshots blasted through the cabin and the old woman’s face was a bloody hole. Alexander stood with a smoking gun in his hand and stood next to Mason, “God damn it Mason, you know better then to talk to the kill. All’them have a sob story they have to tell before they die. It’s better to just put a hole in their head.” Mason looked spooked and motioned to speak, but Alexander wouldn’t hear of it, “Enough Mason. You still need more training; mainly against the sad bullshit that every human being feels is exclusively his.”

~**~

Mason was smoking a burnt out cigarette as it started to snow down upon the rooftop. Daniel Moot approached Mason with a metal-refrigerator briefcase and opened it in Mason’s sight showing several vials of sky-blue gel caps. Mason took out a wad of bills, quietly counting it in front of him. Everything was set, he walked over to Mason and the exchange was made.

Moot started to leave; the deal was done and there was nothing more to say. Mason dropped the suitcase and drew his gun. “Get on your knees!” Mason yelled in a firm voice.

Moot turned around, “Damn bounty hunter!”

Mason rushed him and roundhouse kicked his face sending Moot’s body crashing to the floor, “I never asked you to turn around, Daniel.”

Slow footsteps tapped against the stairwell and the figure that emerged addressed Mason’s back, “I knew I was going to find Moot up here but I never expected you, Traitor.”

Mason’s eyes widened, “…Callie?”

She flashed a devilish smile, “Traitor, that’s the name all the assassins call you and all the cops call you Bounty Hunter.” Her smiled faded away, “but I just call you Scum. Glenn now has a price on your head and he sees it as a duty to kill you for the sake of your father’s name, Alexander.”

Mason raised his voice in anger, “My father… None of you knew him and you praised his killing. I did, I knew the bastard. Everyday my father was dieing inside and everyday we trained, trying to live on inside me. His demons, he never expected those to get passed along as well. He was selfish… No! He was a pitiful man who could never look into his own eyes and admit the blood he spilt. None of you knew my father but all of you are becoming my father. Callie, I ask you again, lets be together, away from the death, away from Alexander.”

Callie drew her gun and laughed as a tear tore from her eye. Her fire echoed off all the surrounding buildings, killing Moot instantly.

She growled at Mason, “I am Death. You deny who you are, and Death is your name. How can you run away from your own truth? Mason, you ran away from me, to leave me alone; I can’t focus anymore, my life is nothing now.” She pointed her gun at Mason’s head and Mason froze as she cocked back the hammer.

Mason spoke up, “Callie, you don’t need this. It doesn’t have to be apart of yourself.”

Callie screamed, “It is me. And with you gone, I have nothing left for myself to embrace!” She then pointed the gun at her head and fired. She fell into the snow, transforming it’s angelic white into blood red with only a touch

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