My legs are crossed on the sink. A life lays next to me on a towel. Carefully I drain the sink. And then I slide the knife in the sink. The blood black in moonlight shining through the frosted glass. I scrub quickly fearing time is short. I have no time to explain. I leave kissing my mom goodbye as she sleeps on the couch. I leave no trace I was there. No blood. No wounds. No bodies. No memories. I slip out into the streets slinking around. Taking alleys instead of sidewalks. Heading towards the center. I pass others like me. We exchange nods and the occasional flash of tattoo. The grey snake that wraps around my waist. It's head peeking over my shoulder. The scar my father left me with. The mark of a person who is on a mission to kill. My fathe left me alone with a stranger. A stranger, who when I turned thirteen, took a needle and paint and turned my body into a scar. A scar saying I'll bring suffering. My mind wonders as I get closer to the inner circle. Our numbers grow. People start to show their tattoos. Some on hands. Feet. Chests. Heads. Necks. A couple like me, with it all over.