The Assassin's Secret


Such a wonderful thing isn't it?

You know, we do possess a right to live, a right to freewill .

Some choose to use that right for the greater good and choose to abuse it.

We created this world by our actions, we were supposed to be the ones to make a difference ; Our society ended up being worse than the society that began this mess in the first place.
I wanted change, no desired it. Our society was built on desire and secrets , deceit and greed .

I wanted the game to stop.

But it had already begun.


4. Brittle Bones

Brianna's POV

“You need to move, Miss Ricci.”

I didn’t.

I only saw fire, I only heard cries and screams, I saw death.

My sister laid in hospital, most likely dead because she sacrificed herself to protect 2 people, Celeste took 2 bullets; her killer shot themselves. The man and his child ran away soon after the attack, their whereabouts were unknown. I honestly lost track of time as I just managed to kneel down in front of the willow tree that was situated at the rear end of the gardens. Too much had happened in my time, some I couldn’t force myself to utter and this regarded to no exception. I just stared at the willow who had seen so much and yet couldn’t tell what she had seen. What had happened tonight gave me a glimpse of what had to occur for 10 years in the Eclipse wars, 24 hours a day & 7 days a week. I never really knew how to deal with loss, even as a little child, the thought of someone fire burn out always bothered me to a greater extent than usual. My body would in a sense turn off block the audible scenario that occurred in my presence, I tended to scream as a way to block out the sorrow that stood before me. I saw colours more intently (crimsons became more striking, orange became more vibrant, instead of just blue, I saw unrecognizable shades) my mind would become much more in tune with its surrounding but at the same time would deflect anything from it. The last time that happened, I ….

The willow in which I gave my undivided attention to was one that had been in this mansion for years. The way the leaves would remove ever so delicately (like tears) became a sort of therapy to me.

“Miss Ricci, your father wished for me to tell you that he is alive and will see you in 15 minutes.” A member of my father’s security called out from afar

I had completely forgotten about the man that had never been there for me. He decided when his guests needed him the most, that his safety was more important. He and the 24 other Ministers. Had it never occurred to them that whilst they took off on their private jets, that thousands of innocent blood was being shed on their door step?

Pain. That’s the first real feeling my body had been able to register. It took me a moment to find the source of the pangs of hurt – my left leg is covered in blood and it looked bloody. My mind began to wander into an odd memory;

My brain finally realized that there was a person in my presence - and that person was getting impatient by the minute,

"Yeah ... um I really appreciate the different aspects of pain," I replied with my most convincing smile

Dr. Days just sighed, taking a sip of her ginger tea,

"Miss Ricci I was in fact, had you have paid any sort of attention, about whether or not you have actually completed that task I gave you?"

I took a moment to think. The task that she gave me was that I was to create a poem which would, and I quote, 'Allow me to pour out my inner most feelings about my loss'. It actually took me a whole night to do but when I actually checked my work, it was just a blank piece of paper with only my name. I only started properly writing when I broke down one night when I heard a song that my mum absolutely adored.

I dug into my jean pocket grabbing hold of a crumpled piece of paper, and began to read,

They look at me like as if I’m tainted

They look at me as if I’m weak

Though the words may not come out of their mouths,

It is in fact the eyes that speak

Out of their lips they may speak a thousand lies

But with the eyes only truth

Constant questions pierce my brain like amber fires

Shadows watch over me

Me and my brittle youth.

I hear only whispers

From who, one doesn’t know

They like to judge, they like to break

Whatever ounce of pride in one’s self

According to them, I am porcelain

I am what you call fragile

Calculated words, afraid to harm

I am what you call brittle

Too afraid to let anyone near me

Too afraid to fall

Too afraid to face the facts

Too afraid to hurt and to stand tall

I am what you call confusing

One that lacks trust in others

One that builds walls instead of bridges

I am what you call tainted


Not a doll, but a man

Not a wall, but a bridge

Not to secrets but to truth

Brittle boned in my youth.

I wrote that out of anger. Anger at the world for taking away my mother like that and angry at the idiot who's reckless driving caused my mother's candle light to go out. But I also wrote that out of pain. You see, I had a theory. That Pain is a feeling that just demands to be heard, to be felt. It seeks attention in ways indescribable. That there are two types of pain. Internal and external. Internal- also known as emotional hurt- is the sort of hurt that can haunt you in ways one has never looked at it before. Cursed with the clouding thoughts of saddening ideology. Plagued. Questions of What ifs? Why? Constant, repetitive kind words that in effect have never, and will never, bring that loved one back. My conclusion,

Life is certainly not child's play.

It’s a game.

That human beings have never and won't ever win.

We had been trying to play it right, move the pawns with skillful positioning in order to defend, yet we never seem to be able to reach our goal, to hit Checkmate.

"Well Miss Ricci, well done for your honest poem... I guess I should dismiss you now." Dr. Days commented, clearly uncomfortable with just how 'honest' my poem was.

I got up and left without further comment.

Truth be told, I hated what my father had been doing for the past 25 years. Yet I could never ever bring that point forward. It had to be my sister to show me strength. She always tried to defy the system, to rebel, in her own little way, her off hand comments about Requa and the Ministry & the indirect calls for change in front of our father.


I took a closer look at the aged Willow that stood before me and noted the tiny engravings carved towards the roots;


I vaguely remembered it being carved on the day we first moved into the mansion. There was another engraving; one that I didn’t think was there before,

The Phoenix. I had never physically seen that engraving before, only in the history books that we were authorized to look at. It was the symbol of the Sparks – the heartbeat of the rebellion against the Ministry. They had been responsible for a number of attacks (presuming this one as well) in and across Tania mainly over the last few years (though only those in government knew about that). They had remained fairly quiet over the past couple of months – until today.

“Miss Ricci?” an unidentifiable voice called out

I turned to see who it was before feeling a needle pierce my skin.    


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