“No mother, no father. No friends, no siblings, no relatives. I have no one but myself; the only soul I can trust. I don’t know how, where, or even why I have such skills. The skills to kill. This knowledge I possess, where have I been taught it. It is a vagueness of forgotten memories, even for the person I trust most; myself.”
The commissioner put down the wrinkled piece of paper that was stained from what seemed like coffee or perhaps blood. He looked over to the side and lifted up a binder revealing another letter. He picked it up gently scanning over it.
"The slightest memory of child hood doesn’t even linger in my head, nothing, not even if I had parents, or anything a normal person’s memory should possess. I woke up, in the mist of nothing. Who was that man. Why did he help me, where did he come from, what did he do to me. The effort of even trying to remember causes my head to ache in unbelievable pain. I have to find him, he knows things about me, I know it. He knows why my mind is crammed with all this knowledge that I have no perspective of. It’s painful not having reasons for questions. He knows why these skills are crammed in my body, skills more deadly then a gun. My hands, my legs, my head, my heart overflow with these skills that I discover more about each day, each minute, each second. It’s coming back to me, I can tell; the memories I remember more and more, but not enough. That man, he knows who I am, what I am, and why I’m here.”
The commissioner was confused at what he was talking about. He looked up onto the rusty dirty bulletin board above him. It was smeared with blood. On it was pinned another note that was also covered in the same blood. He read it in his head. Focusing sternly on it.
“Scarlet, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say, but that I feel it Scarlet, I know it, and the clues are so close I can touch it. Please, believe me trust me. Once I get my answers, I’ll come back to you; I promise. I’ll be by your side for the rest of our lives, trust me. I need to know who I am; who I used to be. I’ll come back.”
The letter had no name, no signature, and no reorganization of any publisher. The commissioner put his hands on the table and looked down straining.
“Commissioner? Did you find anything?” one of his men asked him breaking him out of his trance. He secretively pulled the letter off the bulletin board and slipped the letter into his pocket and replied.
The commission hesitated to answer “Yah. End the search there’s nothing here.” The officer shook his head in acknowledgment and walked off to bark at the other men.
Quietly the commissioner whispered to himself in a deep grudge filled tone, “I’ll get you, Dawnson, I swear I’ll get you.” He clenched his fist viciously, his veins exposed on his skin, bulging out. He exhaled.
“Move out regroup at HQ.”
The 2nd Writing Group Files Storage Thread
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