A hit man. Tennessee had no intention of sugarcoating his profession. He stayed true to his morally bankrupt self and his past. It was a monotonous life, but he didn’t think it was bad.

At least until he found something in the stolen car.

“What’s your name?”

“…I won’t tell you. You’ll laugh.”

“What’s your name then?”

“Tennessee.”

“Is that your first or last name?”

“You don’t need to know.”

The child leaned his forehead out through the back window. His black hair fluttered in the wind.

An unintended kidnapping. That’s how the relationship between Tennessee and the child began.

***

Fire blazed in his eyes.

Tennessee, I should have cut off those legs of yours.

He took a deep breath, overwhelmed by the intense emotions that transformed into a mix of love and hatred.

Your leg shouldn’t have just been broken, left for you to lean on awkwardly, it should have been damaged beyond repair.

I should cut off both your legs and put them in a bag, then put a leash around your neck. I’ll tie that leash to my perfectly fine legs.

A suffocating silence settled. His body collapsed, strength drained.

His palms were sticky. What he thought was sweat turned out to be blood seeping out. Without the energy to even wipe it away, he buried his face in his hands.

It was horrible. This version of himself. The entire situation. It was despair itself. If he gave up, if Tennessee escaped like this…

He wouldn’t be able to go on living.

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