The Traitor

My life as a hit-man was exceptionally electrifying. Every month or so, a letter with the phrase "Dear Jason L. Death" would be found at a bin behind my house, in the dark and unnoticeable alley. Before I opened any of the letters, they would greet me with images of my past victims. However, that did not deter me at all. In fact, I grinned gleefully, hoping that my next mission would be even more …

…of us during an argument, and was fatally killed by my bullet through her heart. The bullet did not stop there; it killed my niece with a blast through her forehead. Till today, I wonder if my life ended because of betrayal, or my lack of skill. Notes: Readers please supply me with comments and scores. This is a new style of writing I've adopted and I hope everyone would enjoy reading the essay! Thanks :)