An Assassin’s Tale

Today is December 5, 2039. I am here at my safe house in downtown Maharlika preparing for the biggest mission in my career : to kill John De Bap, that popular preacher-singer who has been drawing followers and crowds all over-Rizalandia and even around the world. I am out to assassinate him tomorrow in exchange of a huge sum of money that I needed so badly. I will be get paid the soonest my mission is over.

You just have few hours to live now, John De Bap and I swear. Big politicians and influential businessmen are so irritated in the message of his songs that is why they sent me for this job. His songs and poetry, they say – at least according to the people who hired me, are the biggest threat to them. Their businesses, their power, their authority. John De Bap even emphasized that essential to repentance is the issue of social justice, especially in his carrier single entitled “Luke Thirteen, Eleven”.

Call me an old fashioned assassin but in this age of robotics, laser technology and modern weaponry, I prefer to use my vintage Turkish Bora JNG-90 sniper rifle given by my late father, a war hero who died in Afghan war in 2012. This rifle, weighing 6.4 kilogram, has sentimental value to me. I caress my gun just like how my father fondled me when I was a boy. I promised him that I will follow his footsteps but because of greed and lust for money, I landed in this ruthless job. What the heck, I am getting sentimental!

After wiping my rifle’s night vision scope and blast compensator, I switched on the television and a close-up shot of John De Bap occupied the screen. He is a thin man, poorly dressed and unshaven,- but no doubt, with a look of great intensity about him. His free concert tour last summer was a big blockbuster. The freak's tour was held in the wilderness and deserts. To tell you frankly, the diversity of those who came out and be his followers amazes me - whores, gamblers, and thieves mixed with pseudo-religious leaders . Every time he performs and renders a song, the crowd fall to their knees instead of the usual dancing and shouting.

I carry in my wallet a picture of my fourteen -year old little girl, Suneta. I promise that after this job, we will begin a new life. She’s at the ICU of a hospital way back home suffering from bone cancer. She needs to undergo radioactive surgery but it would cost a lot of money. My sweet little girl is also a big fan of June De Bap as well as her late mother. I am happy seeing her, even in his hospital bed trying to cover her sorrows and pain, singing the lines of a song of his idol called, “Prepare, Prepare” : “Somebody is coming and I have been sent to prepare his way/Turn from your sins!/Prepare your self from the coming of the Almighty!...” But you have to die, John De Bap, for trying to bring back the true essence of Christmas tradition. You have to be exterminated for saying that Christmas is an event highlighting spiritual and religious values rather than pure commercialism, and you are gaining followers because your songs bring false hopes and lies.

I am studying the floor plan of the Manny Pacquiao Memorial Field where the concert will be held tomorrow. I am scanning all the pictures and documents from my palm top computer, having every single detail and information that would lead to my perfect and biggest kill come night time. Shown on TV is a pre-concert special called “The Word Among Us” featuring cuts from his previous concert tours and interviews. In the interview, he said something that really pierces my heart : “I have come to turn the heart of fathers toward their children to prepare them for the Lord.” Why this so-called Lord or God and this goddamn John De Bap so concerned about my family, about my sweet child Suneta? Why does this God want me to draw closer to my family so that I could receive His grace? I then suddenly remembered Papa. How I prepared his things and waiting for his return even though I know that he already died in the war. But as time goes on, I am aware of the fact that the memory of my father comes to me in all the events of my life. His memory made me more vigilant but each passing day, I become a dishonor to his valor, gallantly and our name.

I am almost in tears when my personal phone rang. I immediately recognized her voice but there is something unusual about it. Her voice is full of jubilation instead of pain and sorrow, “Please come home, Dad. Together let us watch John De Bap’s concert on TV. Don’t worry about my ailment for I am prepared no matter what will happen. I want to be with you when that day comes. I want to see you and together we enjoy the songs. Surely you will find me here filled with wonder and praise…” And she clicked off. I cried.

Peacefully, I packed up my things leaving my Bora JNG-90 behind and promised my self not to go back to this place anymore…

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(NB : Just a small attempt to write a fiction - NAN. Photo from : www.battlefieldsports.com )