Being the son of the world wide Mafia leader isn't exactly a dream boat... I was 3, we lived in New York when my mother died, she was pushing me in my stroller along with my father and 5 large men in black suits. We were going for a walk, admiring me, their only child, and they didn't know what was coming. 2 Blocks ahead, a black Mercedes pulled out slowly, the mysterious tinted windows hid images inside, just as the car was about to pass us by, the windows rolled down and blazes of gun fire hailed around us. The men in suits immediately hit the ground before they could pull their weapons, my father lied on the ground with a wound in his arm. He sat up struggling to see if I was okay, I was fine, but he turned to my mother. That's when my father became less of a father to me from then on.
Age 13, I have no friends due to my situation related to the Mafia, I've no father to care for me other than the 6 men he has guarding me. Truthfully, I never liked this life my parents brought me into. I refuse to dress in a suit, my father thinks of me being disrespectful. I don't have that "Mob" accent either, I just wanted to live like a normal person. My life is a hell zone, I can't escape the violence and watching innocent blood spray and pour into the streets. I can't roam outside because the majority of the time it's not safe, so all I can do is ponder about in my room and the rest of the two story house. He's also got me wearing this damn bullet proof vest since I was 9... That's when the opposing gang hailed gun shots all over the front of the house, another drive by. It was a close call by many, but then I guess I was lucky.
Age 15, I walked downstairs to my father's study as he summoned me through his body guard. The T.V. was turned on and channeled to the news, some strange sickness floating around. It said that it had began from a single room apartment, as I saw the camera crew with bio hazard suits make their way to the man's room, I could see all sorts of infestation from rodents to serious bug problems. The people were too nervous to go near the victim, so they obviously sent the reporter to investigate. The woman nearby opened the door and out jumped the victim covered in blood and animal hair, he attacked and bit the camera man as two others flee. My father interrupts by turning the T.V. off and explains, "This my son is a bunch of bullshit, this is what get's people killed. They expect us to lend a hand at most." I leave without saying a word and go to my room. I lock the door and turned on the T.V. to finish what I was watching. 7 People come out of the building screaming, bleeding from their necks and faces, and stumbling to the ground. Paramedics arrived and took these people away, I turned the T.V. off and lied down in my bed to think what this possibly could be.
A week has passed, the illness escaped the hospital, my father's downstairs freaking out about what to do. People running and screaming from these crazed cannibals. I looked out my window to watch people run by, gun shots fired almost constantly, an ambiance of gun fire, sirens, and explosions. Smoke coated the sky, darkening daylight. My father bursts through my door and takes me by the arm downstairs. We make it to the front door with 17 body guards heavily armed with machine guns and Desert Eagles. Two guards open the door as they were about to begin an escort, 4 crazed men jump through the door drenched in blood from head to toe. The guards try their best to fight them off, shooting the torso and legs of one undead, no effect, others were bitten or shot. The guards go down very quick as for me and my father were a few feet back near a closet door, he opens the door and shoves me in the closet. His last words, "I love you son." He closes the door, his pistol firing at a constant rate, he stops and screams. He gurgles then coughs... Nothing more is heard but quiet moans and footsteps. Tears begin running down my face, I silently cry in the cramped, dark closet. The ground began to rumble, tank treads scraping at the asphalt, helicopters hover over, jets streaming away and back. Minutes pass and I don't hear anything outside, the moans came back. From what it sounds like is people getting up, I was too afraid to open the door. I slid myself to the end of the closet until i touch a familiar shape, a case of bottled water, there were 7 cases to last at least a few days, if not more. So here, I wait it out...
3 days pass by as I've lived so far, urinating in the empty water bottles I drank to keep the stench away. I slowly put my ear to the door and listened, I heard wind whistling though broken windows, nothing more. I slowly open the door to the bright light blinding me. It took a while as I regained my sight, but as from what I could see... Blood everywhere, hundreds of bodies covering the ground, most civilian, less were army. The stench of the dead, unbearable to my sensitive sense of smell. I carefully stepped over the bodies trying not to disturb them, as for one, I stared. It was my father, his suit was completely ruined and covered in blood, and a bullet wound in the center of his forehead. I kneel down to his body and began to silently cry, I lay my head on his chest, I thought to give him a proper burial once I get myself together. 18 minutes pass as I mourn on the inside, I drug my father carefully to the back yard near my mother's favorite garden, I grabbed a shovel from the shed and started digging. After burying my father, I toss the shovel to the side and stared at the grave. Words escaped my mouth, "I love you too." A tear streamed down my face as I left the area. I lock the back door behind me and wiped away the tears from my eyes with my sleeve. I put my hood over my head and walked out the front door, hoping anyone with the decency to help me. I began salvaging weapons, ammunition from army soldiers, I'd drag them all in the house. I'd move my sanctuary to my father's study as I stack supplies in a corner near his desk. 3 and a half cases of water still in the closet, I go grab them and bring them back. I shut all doors and lock them so I can sit and think about what I'll do next... It's like a never ending nightmare, alone and alive.