I stood in the midst of a swarm of people. Yet, I felt alone.

My hands shook nervously as I waited for what I knew was coming next. I could feel my knife lying heavily in my coat pocket.

This is the right thing to do, I thought closing my eyes trying to calm my uneasy stomach.

Why did I feel so nervous? There was nothing to it. The man had killed my father, and now I was going to kill him.

I licked my dry lips nervously and wiped my sweaty palms on my pants. It was almost time. He would be here any moment and I would be ready for him. I would have my revenge.

And then I saw him; he was familiar to me even if I was not familiar to him. He made his way through the crowded streets of the city, his head bent against the bitter wind. He passed by and didn't even notice me. I was angry, for some reason I wanted him to notice me; I wanted him to know who was going to kill him. I ground angrily spat onto the ground and followed the man in the gray cloak. I slipped my hand into my coat pocket and clenched the handle of the cold knife.

I stepped into a doorway as he turned around and looked in my direction.

I closed my eyes as a wave of nausea overcame me. Could I do this? Could I really kill a man in cold blood?

Why not, My mind screamed at me. He killed your father in cold blood; so you should be able to kill him, Just as he killed your father.

I nodded my head and swallowed. Why was this harder then I thought it would be? I sighed and continued to follow the man. His gray cloak floated behind him as he walked down the street. He was headed towards a more desolate part of the city. I smirked; this was certainly going to make things easy.

The man walked into a dark ally, turned around and stopped. "Come out," He said. "I know you're there."

I stepped into the alley.

"What is it you want?" He asked.

"Your life," I murmured.

"W-what?" He backed away from me, his eyes wide.

"I want your life," I said this time louder.

I pulled my knife out of my pocket, dived for the man and I landed on top of him. We struggled for awhile. First I was on top of him and then he was on top of me trying to get the sharp knife out of my hand.

Finally, I had him pinned against the stone street, my knife against his throat, the blade pressing against his skin.

He looked at me with wide, sad eyes. "I had hoped we would meet differently," He whispered.

"What?"

"Son…I"

"Don't call me son!" I screamed at him. "I'm not your son."

"But you are and I am your father."

"NO!" I screamed. "You killed my father!"

"I couldn't have killed you father, because I am your father."

"No," I said, "You're a liar."

He just looked at me with those sad eyes.

I stood to my feet and threw the knife at a wooden door in the alley, I watched as it lodged itself into the center door. I looked at the man lying on the ground who claimed to be my father.

He stood to his feet and came towards me.

"Stay away from me," I said backing away.

"Jeremy," He said resting his big hands on my shoulders.

"Don't touch me!" I yelled at him. "Just stay away from me!" I ran down the alley tears blinding my eyes. He has to be lying, I told myself. But in my heart, I knew he wasn't.