Jag skulle vela ha lite synpunkter på en novell jag håller på att skriva på engelska till skolan. Det må vara några stavfel där också, har inte kollat så noga. :P

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He looks at me with a blood splattered face and says,

’This house is meant to protect the weak against the abuse of the powerful’.

He forces a needle through the skin of one of my fingers, I shut my eyes and listens as the blood drops down on a plastic surface. I open my eyes slowly and look down and spot a picture of a saint covered in my blood. He’s holding the picture while staring into my eyes. He suddenly mashes the picture into a small ball and presses it onto my palm.

’Hold your arm out’.

Spit sprayed all over my face as I lifted my arm up towards to blood splattered ceiling. He picked up a bottle of whiskey and unscrewed the bottle lid real quick and poured it all over the picture and my right hand. Inhaled the smoke from the cigar one last time and blew it in my face as he lit the picture on fire.

At this point I was bouncing a burning image of a saint between my hands. He laughed at me and clapped his hands, his breath smelled like a mixture of cigar smoke and eggs, I felt like I wanted to vomit. He suddenly stops and stares at me, I did not know what to focus on, the burning image in my hand or the eyes of a murderer.

’ Say the following after me …May my flesh burn like this saint if I fail to keep my oath.’

He put a wet blanket over my sore hands, and repeated.

’… May my flesh burn like this saint if I fail to keep my oath.’

I looked at him and despite all hate that I felt for him at that point, I slowly repeated. A smile brightened his face as I’d finished the oath, he took a firm grip around my arm and pulled me towards the exit. I almost slipped in the stripe of blood that led to the barbers head. He spat on the floor as we went pass the dead barber.

Things weren’t always like this…

I grew up in a small town in Italy. My mother’s name was Adalina and she was a caring and a loving woman. I had never met my father my mother always told me that he died during an earth quake and whenever I spoke about him she gained this look on her face, that she was so miserable, it was horrible. This resulted in us not speaking about my father that much.

On my fifteenth birthday I went to our local grocery store when I bumped into a man dressed in a black suit, with gray slicked greased up hair. He looked down on me and cocked one of his eyebrows.

’Hey, you’re the undertakers son.’ He said with a deep voice.

I looked around for an exit when he suddenly grabbed me around my throat with his right hand.

’Answer me, boy!’ He yelled in my face.

I looked up at him again and wiped some spit off my face.

’Who’s that?’ I said calmly even though I was seconds away from soiling myself.

’You’re Salvatore Buscetta, right?’ He said with excitement in his voice.

I slowly nodded my head avoiding direct eye contact. The man looked around for by standers and grabbed my shirt and started to drag me with him.

When we got out of the store he gave me 80$ and said, give that to your mum, that’s for the groceries. Then he reached into his pocket again and fetched a 100$ bill and gave it to me.

’That’s for you, if you want any more where that came from. Come see me at the Biscotti ristorante for a job.’

Some time went by and I had been working for the man now for a while and I had come to know him as Mr. Orlando. I never told my mother about Mr. Orlando because I knew that he were into some bad business.

Oh well, as I was saying. I had recently turned 21 and I had worked for Mr. Orlando a while mostly to collect money from other business associates of his as he referred to them. When he came up to me on the street as I was busy washing his car. He had a man with him who were also wearing a suit and a tie. Mr. Orlando said
’This man here is a Mafiosi, a man of honor and he’s got a small assignment for you.’

I wiped some sweat of my face and looked up at the Mafiosi.

’Hello there, you must be Salvatore.’

’Yes, that’s me sir.’ I said.

The Mafiosi looked back at Mr. Orlando and slowly nodded twice. Mr. Orlando looked at me and said.

’This man here’s got a job for you Salvatore.’

I dropped the sponge on the pavement and nodded. The Mafiosi asked me to jump into his car, so I did and we drove off.

A few moments later we pulled up at this barber shop and I was about to exit the car when The Mafioso suddenly grabbed my shoulder.

’Just, wait for a second.’

I sat still in the car keeping my eyes peeled on the barber shop when this black car with purple seats pulls up in front of the building. There’s a man exiting the car carrying a small briefcase. He walks up to the barber shop and enters it. He starts to chat with the barber and the barber walks up to the door and puts up a ”closed” sign. The men carry on into the basement. The Mafioso looks at me and I look back. The Mafioso is holding a gun; he gently places the gun in my lap and says.

’It’s loaded, just aim it and pull the trigger.’

At this time I didn’t know what to do, so I thought that I’d enter the store and buy some time to think about what they do. I open up the car door and starts walking towards the door and as I enter a bell rings. The barber starts running up the stairs, I thought he was going to kill me so I point the gun towards the stairwell and as soon as he shows himself I pull the trigger. Blood splatters all over the ceiling and the wall. The barber falls down and lands on his stomach, the bullet had gone through his head.

The bell a start ringing again as somebody enters, I make a quick 180 degree turn and find myself aiming the gun at the Mafioso’s head.

’Easy there kid, give me that.’

I hand the Mafioso the gun and he runs down the stairs. I flinch as two bullets go off and then everything goes quiet. I cross my arms and nervously start whistling when I hear someone in the stairs. Up the stairs comes the Mafioso dragging the suited man in his right hand and carrying a briefcase in the other. The suited man’s shirt is covered in blood and he’s gasping for air. The Mafioso drops the briefcase on the floor and it breaks open. Some money spreads over the floor and a switchblade slides across the floor and hits my shoe. I slowly bend over and pick it up.

’Jam it into his throat, make sure the cut the quarterly arteries.’ The Mafioso says while breathing heavy.

I grasp the switchblade firmly and slowly walk towards him as I stumble across a picture of a saint. I look down at the wounded man.

’Get rid of him, get rid of the undertaker’

The undertaker looked at me; I took the knife and jammed it into the undertakers forehead with full force and watched as he fell down lifeless to the floor. His legs were twitching and accidentally pushed the picture of the saint before my feet.

…The Mafioso picked it up...

… I removed the wet blanket around my hands and wrapped it around the Mafioso’s throat and pulled, pulled so hard that the burnt flesh of my hands peeled off.

’This is for making me kill my own father’ I said as I strangled him with the wet blanket.

A smile brightened my face as I strangled him, somehow I found it funny that he wasn’t fighting back.

As I exit the building leaving those three dead bodies behind, including my father I felt nothing unless the stinging sensation in my sore hands. I pull over a taxi and says to the driver,

’The airport please.’