Author: NightOfAThousandNightmares PM
All her life, only one sentence motivated her: Kill, or be killed. At 15 Isis Mikhail was one of the most infamous asassins in the maufia underworld. She was cold blooded, merciless. Who knew that love would lead to her downfall?Rated: Fiction T - English - Crime/Romance - Chapters: 2 - Words: 1,447 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 1 - Updated: 11-08-08 - Published: 08-13-08 - id: 2558565
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
All was still in the city. The wind blew softly, as if hushing the silence. The night was pitch black, the only light coming from the splatter of stars in the sky. The moon shone dimly, as if weary from some unknown lifetime. The sand rippled lightly as the wind brushed past it. All was quiet. All was peaceful.
Until a sudden shriek tore apart the quiet solitude.
Immediately the peace shattered and the people of the rural Tel Aviv gathered around the large, beautiful house that was the source of the commotion. A woman, still in her night garments, wailed and shouted as she ripped her overcoat and threw ash on herself. "7aya! 7aya!" she continued to scream.
All knew what this meant. A few women came and comforted the bewailing woman on the lawn. The men then rushed inside the house. They did not know what to expect. Carefully, they entered a room with a door that was cracked open. They grimaced at the sight of the still, pale figure in front of them. Ben Al-Tenviv was dead. He was only 54. A respectable man of the community. Everyone loved him. And now, he layed motionless, the dry blood clinging onto his shirt. His eyes gaped lifelessly, as if watching a frozen dream. Who would do such a horrible, horrible thing?
One of the men, the trained and respected doctor of the town, Abdul-Hafiz, knelt down and examined the man's chest. He looked away in grief as he examined the the bullet wound. "It was most certainly the work of 7aya," he said while examining the mark engraved onto the corpse's torso.
One of the younger men cocked his head. "How do you know?" he asked.
The elder snorted at the young man's ignorance. "Do you know nothing?!" Badr al Din bellowed. "That, that design embleshed on Ben's torso is the sign of 7aya!"
All beheld the mark of the snake, crudely carved onto Ben's chest. Badr choked. "He was such a good person..." he muttered, tears streaming down his weathered cheeks. "Oh, when will God smite His mighty hand against, this...this...monster...?"
The men knelt down around the lifeless body and began to pray.
Watching from a distance, a figure crouching in the branches of an olive tree shook her head and sighed. How long would they be cloaked with ignorance? How long would those around her not know the truth? Her hazel eyes glinted in the moonlight. That was truly the question...
"Parsa! Get your lazy butt out of bed!"
Parsa Zakariyya groaned as he turned over and closed his eyes. "Five more minutes..." he muttered.
His mother snickered behind the door. "Yeah right. Get up before I make you!" She laughed as she proceeded to walk down the stairs.
"Ugh...why can't I sleep in on a Saturday like a normal teen?" he mumbled as he stumbled out of bed. He looked out of his window onto the bustling city of Tel Aviv. He cracked a smile. So this was the famous Israeli city! He himself had lived out his life in New York, USA, but ever since his uncle-
"Parsa, hurry up!" his mother screeched from downstairs. Parsa rolled his eyes and proceeded to change. He looked onto the mirror and smirked. Ever since he joined the football team at his highschool, he had become pretty well built. His bronze skin rippled with muscles. No, he wasn't like The Rock or anything, but his lean build gave him the agility and speed of any athlete.
A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts. "Parsa, stop staring at yourself in the mirror and actually GET READY FOR THE STUPID FUNERAL!"
It suddenly clicked in his mind. That's why his family had come to Israel! He had completely forgotten that his uncle had died. He didn't know how though; his mother wouldn't say. And that worried him because his mother was, he prayed to God for forgiveness, a loudmouth who didn't know when to shut up.
He grabbed a black t-shirt and black cargo pants with chains sticking out of them and quickly put them on. He walked down the stairs where his mother practically shoved him against the wall.
"What on earth are you wearing?" Alhena Zakariyya asked him hotly. "This is a funeral, not a rock concert!"
Parsa shrugged. "It's the only thing I have that's all black," he explained nonchalantly.
Alhena snorted, then sighed. "Whatever, we're late already!" She then proceeded to drag him into the car and screech away onto the highway. Parsa sighed. He had only been here a day and he was already bored. This was waaayy lame. He didn't even know anything about his uncle; he only met him once, when he was four. So what was the point of going to the funeral?
What Parsa didn't know was that a figure silently watched him drive away, her snake-like eyes glittering in the sun...