The Deadpool Stabber

"They say I'm crazy but that's not true, right?"

I don't care what they think about me. With that said I don't have a problem with them fearing me. The only thing that matters is the Deadpool. Everyone on the list has done something illegal anyways, I guess they deserve, death. I'm standing in front of the apartment building we live in, me and my raven. He doesn't have a name, it doesn't even matter. He's in many ways my partner, he's my eyes in the air. Let me clear it up for you: never has a single witness gotten away.

It's the start of a new month, a new Deadpool. I make sure that the list is in my pocket and wander down the hall. Normally I would be more discreet but since it's late, nobody would be in the hallways. I open the door to my little apartment and habitually walk to the window. Only seconds after opening it I see him in the night sky. Before anyone could see anything, he flies through my window and sits in the small living room. His feathers shine in the moonlight, and I admire him for a second. On my way to him, I catch my reflection in the mirror. 

My dark blonde hair lays on my shoulders, my face blank from emotion. My parents had spent many hours in the past, telling me how beautiful my eyes were, how they reminded them of the ocean, due to the nuances. After they passed, I guess my eyes got darker, more lifeless, as myself. That were times I had chosen to forget about, thoughts I chose to push away, memories I just want to get out of my head.

 I have more important stuff to think about anyway.

The Deadpool. Every month a new list came. Everyone was of different values. If you get them out of the way and confirm the murder, you get the amount of money they are worth. You see, I could easily move out of here, I'm not lacking money, but I prefer to lay low. I sit on the old couch, one I had found at a garage sale once, and take the new list out of my pocket. I place it on the table in front of me and turn on the oil lamp. I read through the names. Next to each name is written the person's value. With one it was as if the whole world stopped. The only thing I could think about what that one name, the one name I couldn't take my eyes off.

Thea Bolt: 80.000

Of course, I knew that this day would come. With all the blood I have on my hands. But that does not stop the panic, a feeling I can't remember feeling in a long time. Not a lot of people know my real name, in the news and media I've got the nickname "The Deadpool Stabber". On second thought it makes good sense. It's not a secret, here in Milwaukee, that there is an actual Deadpool, many just doesn't care. Everyone that's not worth anything, that doesn't have anything to fear. 

When I think about it, it's kind of crazy. I'm only worth 80.000,- Anyways, we that earn the money, the ones who are strong and willing enough to kill another person, have no contact. Everyone does have contact with "Taskmaster", the man that sends us the Deadpool. It's the same man who gets the proof and confirmation of each completed murder. I prefer knives. I always have one, or more, on me. Cause why not?

Without further thought I grab my phone and go on facetime, tapping "Taskmaster". Even though he replies with a black screen, I know that I have his full attention. "If I can't get the money for my name." I start. I grab my knife from my boot, my initials engraved in the shaft. After taking a deep breath "then nobody should get it." I barely react as I stab the knife into my abdomen. I recognize a shallow laugh from the phone, it's always something that someone is proud of me.

Do you remember earlier? They say I'm crazy but that's not true, right?"

I smile with blood on my hands... they were right. 

AN:

It's out! this was originally a story I did for a school assignment but decided to post it here anyway. I hope you enjoyed this. It's not my typical genre, but I ended up liking it. 

-Emma