ASSASSIN'S CREED

The timing was perfect… Whisker stood perfectly still as he observed The Job. His black spandex garbs

embraced the darkness that the crowded wardrobe offered. He was in the suits section and knew he wouldn’t have any problems executing this… yet, there was this edgy air in the atmosphere.

The Job approached the wardrobe to hang his suit and Whisker retrieved his jagged Bowie knife from the scabbard… the order had read “GUTTURAL AND BLOODY… and bring evidence”… Whisker intended to do just that even though he preferred not having contact with jobs… The Agency paid well, so sniping would have to wait for the next job… 

The Job pulled out a hanger… Whisker eased forward… his grip on the Bowie taut

“Hi” The Job said, throwing Whisker off balance “How long have you been here?”

Whisker wasn’t sure if The Job was talking to him or communicating with someone else… but there was no one else in the room, and The Job wasn’t wearing any communicating device…

 “Whisker, right? That’s what The Agency calls you” The Job said as he hung the blazer and walked towards his dressing mirror… leaving Whisker in a mind mud.

 In all his years of executing jobs, Whisker had never seen or heard about anyone act so calmly in the face of death… and Whisker had been an executioner for approximately 22 years… He started out as a government executioner… and as the case always is, time came for him to be silenced but he dropped out of the radar completely. 

Four years later he resurfaced as a freelance assassin listed on The Agency’s yellow pages… most ruthless and particularly keen on jobs that had corrupt government officials as targets. When he received this assignment he had been told that The Job was a preacher with a 9, 000-seater auditorium. The preacher’s messages were thwarting the passage of an “evil” bill in the senate and the committee needed him out of the way.

“I heard the assassin’s creed allowed for a retirement plan… what’s yours?” The Job (Preacher) continued as he pulled off his wrist watch and dumped it on the mirror desk. The Preacher sank on the bed and beckoned Whisker to come out. Whisker had no idea what pulled him out but he found himself stepping out of the wardrobe into the poorly lit room – the only source of illumination was the bedside lamp.

“The Committee sent you, right?” The Preacher patted his bed and Whisker sat down… Whisker could not fathom where the tears came from, but they flowed freely… he struggled to maintain his composure but bawled instead… his heart gave him away… somehow he knew there was a force that had overwhelmed him, yet knew not what force it was…

He nodded in response to The Preacher’s question 

“Too bad” The Preacher shook his head in pity “they picked the wrong preacher… son, it’s time for you to come home… Jesus is knocking at the door of your heart… the emotions you are experiencing are your sins struggling to gain elbow room” 

Finally, Whisker stuttered amidst sobs “what do I do?”

“Repeat after me” The Preacher replied “Dear Father…” 

***

It doesn’t matter what you have done or where you have been, Jesus has been to the worst place ever for you… and His arms are wide open to welcome you home… Come home, wherever you are!