Love and Assassins

Prologue

My life sucks.

No, seriously, it does. Hell, life in general sucks. I mean who would create something like life, where you’re born – painful; you grow up, go to school – wasn’t that so much fun; and then they kick you out as soon as it’s starting to come together and tell you to get a job, get a wife, buy a house, have kids, get credit cards, build up debt, pay taxes, follow the law, and never, never, never even think the words… “Is this what I want?”

I mean it’s sadistic, really. Seriously.

And now guess what?
You’re stuck.
All your dreams?
Gone. Never gonna happen.
Goals?
Pipe dreams. Forget’m.

And why?

Because you got involved in a little thing called living. You said, “yep, ship me down, I’m gonna do it.” And then when you’re half way out of your mother you take one look around and think, “crap. Where’s the manual?” And that’s when you cry. Really, I think that’s the real reason babies are always crying during birth.
And the few who don’t cry? Probably too stupid to notice there’s no manual. They cry later.

Anyways, evil, pure evil. Look at me. I’m laying here in my bed, alone, sheets halfway off me because I started to get up, decided not to, and then was too lazy to even pull them back on.

That thing on the bed stand beside me? It’s an alarm clock. It’s been going off for almost half an hour now, telling me to get up, take a shower, go to work. Hey, when I’m off maybe I can go get some beers with Jack and forget about everything until tomorrow morning when my alarm and headache wake me again.

Oh, wait, can’t do that. Because Ole Jacky is staying somewhere else now. At my house, with my wife. Yep. Fuck him.

So where does that leave me? Laying in bed in a little apartment I just moved into, staring at the wall as my alarm continues to ring, now telling me that not only am I late to get up, but in five minutes I’ll be late for work.

And since I didn’t show up the last two days, because, you know, why bother? I’ll probably be fired. Yep. My life sucks. And there’s this stupid light shining in through the window beside me and it hurts my eyes. Probably just all part of the plan.

But why am I still laying here? I mean, yeah, it’s bad. All of it. But even if I don’t go to work why am I still lying in bed, slowly taking drags of my fifth cigarette so far today, in need of a shower, not even any coffee yet?
It’s because I’m thinking. I’m thinking of one thing as I lay here, cigarette in hand, swirls of smoke lazily rising up to join the cloud above my head, the thing I woke up thinking.

End it.

Yeah. Suicide. The old hell sender, damned forever thing.

I’ve been staring at the wall, the same wall, for forty minutes now as that stupid alarm rings its fucking head off, trying to make the decision. It’s not been an easy one to make.
Well… now I have.

I’m gonna do it.

I’m gonna get up, make some coffee, and kill myself.

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