[RS #7] The Assassin Pt. 1 (Prologue)

Linda Uhu | Mar 24, 2017
So this story will be part of a bigger one, which I will publish from time to time. If you can't wait or something, you can head over to my Wattpad for more stuff, I've written.
But let's get to it:

It was a quiet, sunny morning - there where birds on the terrace of the family's home, greeting the sun with their lovely songs. The mom was sitting there in the old rocking chair with the baby in her arms. She was smiling down on the little thing, she was holding, thinking about how wonderful life was to have gifted her with such a miracle. She was happy sitting there, dreaming of the future: the child would go to school, meet new friends, be happy and it would always have the mother to talk to, if anything bad happened, because the mother would never leave the child. 
The father was inside, cooking breakfast, watching his smiling wife through the window. He was filled to the top with happiness - he never thought he would ever feel so happy again, not after the miscarriage, not after all the sadness they went through, but here he was: watching his little family. They would always make him happy, he would never leave them, that's what he swore to himself in that moment, whilst cooking eggs.
It was when the father arrived outside, in his hand the tablet with the breakfast on it, that he heard a strange noise. It was none of the birds, and it wasn't a car either. It sounded like someone was limping through grass - always dragging on foot behind the other, but that wasn't possible, they didn't expect any visitors. The father looked at the front pourch, but he couldn't see anyone - must have been his imagination, he thought. 
Then the pain exploded in his back - a burning sensation crept up his left arm, and then his right. He dropped the breakfast, thereby breaking the ceramic pot filled with coffee. He couldn't speak or even scream, while he dropped to his knees and his vision blurred. The last thing he saw, were black shoes - the owner always dragging one foot behind the other.
The mother heard something break. The father must have dropped something - no big deal, she thought and continued being happy with the baby in her hands. She was so lost in her thoughts about the family's fantastic future, that she didn't notice someone getting close to her, until something cold touched her throat. She looked down on her child and saw red paint dropping on its forehead - that wasn't right. The mother wanted to wipe it away, not even wondering, where it came from suddenly, but she couldn't move her arms. Her vision also blurred, like the fathers had minutes ago. The last thing she thought was: That isn't right. 
There were hands grabbing the family's child.