My sister was a hard worker. She made her money for the both us, and never complained about having to take care of me. She'd wake me up, hand me my lunch, walk me to school on her way to work, come home, make dinner, and start over again the next day. Now, it was a bit rough, and sometimes it'd be a miracle that we got by. But she did her best for me everyday, and I did the same for her.

I remember the first day I saw her with an expensive purse. I was in midle school at the time, and I had just gotten home from volleyball practice. I was tired and hungry, but my sister had yet to come home. I expected this, as she said she'd be meeting someone that night. I didn't mind. She does so much for me, the least I could do for her is let her have a life. I made my food, did my homework, and sat on the couch to watch some TV.

My kind of night if I'm going to be honest.

It was an hour into my series when she did come home. She looked tired - and a little upset - but I didn't say anything about it. I did; however, follow her every move as she tried to keep the Gucci purse out of my sight. Now, I knew it was sometimes hard on her when it came to paying bills, but I also knew she'd sometimes get enough overtime to buy a little something extra for herself. I encouraged it!

But a Gucci purse...that was new.

"I like your purse," I had said. I didn't want to seem bitter, but I thought I had offended her by the way she jumped at my comment. But I just played it off, "Was your meeting okay?"

"Yeah! Meeting was great. Did you eat dinner? Homework done?"

She tried playing it off, but she was never a good liar in the many years that we'd been together. Her body said she was fine, but her voice and her eyes told me just how uneasy she felt under my gaze. Being the person I was - and still am - I decided it was best to leave her be.

"I had some ramen and finished my homework about an hour ago."

"Good." She relaxed, and it worried me. It made me wonder just how uneasy I made her feel. I didn't see myself with that kind of power, and I hated that she felt like that. But she smiled, "I'm proud of you. I'd do anything for you, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. Thank you for taking care of me so well."

I hugged her after that and decided I would give her the TV for the night. If she wants to buy a Gucci purse because she wants it, then it's her decision. I just hoped she knew what she was doing.

------

The next item I saw her with was an accident.

From as far back as I could remember, I'd always heard my sister say how much she hated lingerie. It was gaudie, and just too expensive for her taste. So, it's safe to say that I was pretty shocked when I walked in on her wearing it. I had only meant to walk in and ask her for help with my homework, but I never expected...well, that.

"Jude!"

"Sorry, I didn't think you'd be changing! I just need help with my homework."

"Just wait for me in the kitchen."

I didn't wait to be told twice. I closed the door and ran back to the kitchen, and it wasn't until she came out to help me that I finally started questioning her need for it. Sure, changes in taste can change, but she and I had talked about how much she hated lingerie just the week before. So, you could see how confused I was at the time. But I stayed silent and kept to my own task at hand.

Her business wasn't my business, and I didn't want to invade her privacy.

Figuratively or literally...

When she came home that night, she looked nothing like she had when she left. Her hair that she'd curled for her meeting was a mess, and her makeup had smudged under her eyes. Her clothes that she'd picked out for the night were wrinkled and disheveld, and I could have sworn there was a bruise forming on her neck.

I had thought the worst.

"Are you okay? What happened to you?"

I saw the panic set in her eyes like it had before, but she kept her facade calm.

"Just a small confrontation, nothing I couldn't handle."

Small confrontation? What does 'small confrontation' mean exactly?! It could literally mean anything, and she was just going to sit there calmly, like she didn't look like she was thrown around.

"This looks like more than a small confrontation, Jess."

Her frightened look softened at my words, and the small smile that she now held made me relax; especially when she placed a hand on my shoulder.

"It's already been taken care of, Jude. Don't worry. I know you care, but I'm honestly fine."

I didn't trust her, but at the same time I did. As much as I didn't want to believe her, I accepted her words and gave her a hug. If she wasn't okay, then she would tell me. She'd tell me everything, and I'd do the same.

So I believed her.

-----

I stopped believing her when he showed up at our door.

I had a game that day, and Jess told me that a friend would be joining her in the stands. Me being me, I thought it was a mutual friend that she wanted to surprise me with. The thought alone made me happy, and I was excited to play that day with the thought of an old friend coming to watch.

You can imagine my disappointment and confusion when I answered the door to find a stanger with a teddy bear in his arms.

"You must be Jude."

I'll admit that not only was his voice attractive, but everything about him just screamed perfect. His charming smile, his amazing eyes, and his perfect hair.

Godlike.

But why did the attractive man holding a bear know my name, when I knew nothing about him?

"Ma-Jackon! You're early."

Notice: Weird speech of the day #1

"I just thought I'd surprise you and your sister. You weren't lying when you said she was pretty, you both have very good looks."

Notice: Weird speech of the day #2

Now, I won't say I'm a master of reading other people. I can read my sister, and that's usually about it, but I could read this guy fairly well. Playboy. Charmer. He was the kind of guy who could smile at a woman and she'd fall at his feet.

Not who I wanted for my sister.

"I bought you a bear on my way over here. Jess told me how much you like stuffed animals, and this guy was just too cute to pass up."

Well, maybe he wasn't that bad.

"Thanks."

"Let's get going! Shall we?"

It was at that point that I knew there was something weird about their relationship. All throughout my game, I saw how flustered my sister would get, how close he'd get to her, how they both had walked out for a bit and came back after a suspicious amount of time. Even when the game was over and Jackson took us for victory ice cream as a trio, I knew their relationship was a strange one.

I didn't want to think about it, but I knew something was up.

-----

It was a month later when I came home to the two of them talking to each other that I learned the truth. The man. That charmer...

He was my sister's sugar daddy.

He'd been paying our rent for months, sleeping with my sister, and presenting her with gifts for months. She'd been lying to me for months about losing her job, about nearly being evicted, about needing help. She never told me anything, because she wanted to give me the happy childhood she knew we couldn't afford.

So she sold her body for me.

She commited what is seen as a sin, just for my happiness. Week after week, meeting after meeting, every expensive gift she brought home, every bruise I found...All of it was a lie for me to continue living a decent life.

It had made me so angry. It had made me disgusted to know that she felt I couldn't help her, that she needed to sell herself for me. It was as if our years of sisterhood and companonship meant nothing to her, and our bond was suddenly cut off.

And I ran.

I ran until I couldn't remember that I stopped, and I didn't realize I had stopped running until I woke up in the sterile hospital room.

My unconscious decision to run made me trip down the steps at the park, completely blinded by angry tears. I hit my head on the metal railing first, and I blacked out after hitting the concrete at the bottom.

At least that's what the doctor said.

But it wasn't so bad when I came to. For the first time, I got to see how Jackson really treated my sister. For the first time, I saw how tenderly he held her, how gently he pet her hair, how quietly he calmed her. He held her so close to him with such care, that I forgot he was just her sugar daddy. Because in that moment, that one moment; he showed how much he truly cared for her.

-----

It's been a few years since then, and the three of us now live together in Jackson's home. After my accident, I learned that he was the CEO of a major company, and he had originally hired Jess to be his secretary. But after getting to know each other and our situation, he offered his "other service" for hers in return. I had only ever heard of something like this in Fifty Shades of Grey and fan fiction, and I never imagined my sister being a part of something like that. But I'm kinda glad she did.

She wouldn't be getting married in a few days if it wasn't for the stupid agreement she made.

I still find it hard to get past their previous relationship, and the things they'd do. But I'm so happy that they found each other to love for the rest of their lives.

Even if she had to lie.

fate is by far one of the most interesting things. it just has a way of catching us off guard when we least expect it, it catches us when it needs to, and sometimes, it just makes life that little bit more interesting.

once again the late night shift in the local burger diner falls to me, the neon coloured uniform top can be seen from the moon, with the burger named emblazoned across the front ‘Mama’s meals’ Mama as she refers to herself is out the back in the kitchen frying up more of her glorious meals, while I’m stuck in the empty diner, sat behind the counter, scrolling through social media.

sighing I turn to survery the empty diner, I’m a student pulling every shift I can get just to keep my college fund out of the red zone and into the green zone, or at least out of the red zone, and able to get the train to and from, plus the extras I need for the course. as per usual it is a quitet Friday evening, meaning most people are in the clubs getting drunk, while I’m stuck here earning money, truth be told, most of my friends are working too, but most of them work together in the cinema.

instead, I’m alone at the diner, in truth I am supposed to share the shift with someone else - Cherry, but she never turns up for work, not that I’m complaining Mama rarely needs to talk to me, and the silence is quite comforting in a weird kind of way. Mama’s round face and stature is warm and welcoming, but the night shift is her time, where she creates future rent payers, and sings merrily. her cherry red hair, rosy pink cheeks, cute white button apron, over her cherry patterned dress, with red kitten heels, and cute baby blue bows in her curled hair.

adjusting my top I stare aimlessly around the retro diner, Mama is probably creating another one of her masterpieces, that will no doubt have me rushed off my feet tomorrow. it’s the middle of spring holiday, so those who are still in the area are at parties all night or clubs, and the rest have escaped on a glamourous holidays jetsetting around Europe to update their social medias to brag about for the next six months until their next holiday.

the bell tinkles loudly, alerting to me a customer, glancing up at the clock I realise it is way past 10:30pm, who wants a burger at this time? I glance at the group who have just walked in, I swear I recognise their faces from somewhere, it is a hgue group of boys, at least six of them, “hey Tatya!” so I know one of them, the shortest - Rob Dellane - one of the most popular boys in my secondary school.

if I’m being completly honest, I was under the impression that he had long since left town for some high class college probably in some sun blessed country, where his parents would be footing the bill. “long time no see,” he smiles cheekily, so nothing has really changed about him, standing up and grabbing my pad and pen which I deserted early into the shift.

smoothing out my top, and checking my jeans keep my top tucked in, I walk over to the table that they have managed to squish themselves around, “you do know there are bigger tables right?” I ask, they all look at me confused for a moment, before looking around at the other far larger tables which they can probably fit around far more comfortablly, “ohhh,” I nod at their realisation and they all chuffle around one of the bigger tables.

smiling slightly I follow them over to the table, “so what can I get ya?” they all browse the menu, sharing glances between each other, ignoring the glances, I ask again, “guys is there anything you want?” eventually they all close their menus, “is there a chance of everything on the menu?” one of them asks who I don’t recognise. “do you have the cash for it?” I reply, most people who ask that don’t realise how much money Mama spends on her groceries, “how could you!??! that hurt deep!” one of them fake whimpers.

in turn they all pull out their wallets, with enough money to pay for most of the diner, “do we get you as a special offer?” one of them asks cheekily, “nope,” I smirk glancing at him, I walk out to the back, handing Mama the order, “seriously!?!” she asks shocked, I nod, “I’ve checked, they have the money as well, prepare yourself Mama, you just got money!” she laughs tossing a cloth to me, “clean those tables for me, would ya darling? I know you’ll be back in the morning, but I don’t want to give you more work,” I smile catching the cloth.

“no problem Mama, you just say the words,” hovering at the door that seperates the kitchen from the main diner, “dude, I told you, you are never gonna win over Tatya, we’ve known her since high school, she isn’t impressed by looks.” Rob scoulds one of the other boys, “they saying anything interesting?” Mama asks, “no idea,” I reply, she smirks knowingly, an expression that doesn’t suit her face. “if the wind changes your face will stay like that,” I duck out of the kitchen just in time to hear a clotch hit the small window in the door.

laughing to myself, I set about cleaning the tables, humming cheerily to myself, “Tatya! can we borrow a moment of your time?” Rob yells, “sure,” cheerily with a spring in my step I bounce merrily over to their table, talking with Mama is always a sure fire way to improve my mood, even if I am on night shift or breakfast shift which starts far to early for my liking. “you remember Damian?” I nod smiling, “St Crossford’s secondary” Damian smirks charmingly - ooo I bet that makes other girls swoon - not me.

“did you need something?” chirply I glance across their expressions, “well is your phone number available?” Damian asks, I have to admit, I never remember him being this forward in school, but it is an improvement from what he may once have been. glancing at the other boys faces, eager to hear my answer, “mmmhmm, nope, little boys who play with fire, get their fingers burnt,” leaving them with that remark, I spin on my heel, going back to wiping down the tables ahead of the breakfast rush tomorrow morning.

“Tatya!” Mama yells, placing the cloth and spray down, I walk into the steamy kitchen, “food’s ready,” Mama says cheerily, the pound signs flashing in her eyes. scooping up the food onto trays, I walk through the door, “get your wallets out,” I tell them dumping the trays in front of them, they all smirk, once again turning to Damian, “whatever you have to say, I really couldn’t care less,” walking away I fetch the rest of the food, “that is £400 for all of you.”

a few of them choke slightly, but agree handing over the money anyway, “enjoy your meal,” I smile walking into the kitchen, “MAMA!” I yell showing her the money, she smiles, “poor boys, they shouldn’t come here too often or they won’t have any money left, put it in the till darling.” I nod, walking back onto the diner floor, and placing the money in the till, and then locking it, Mama has had more than her fair share of wannabe burgelers, all which have been vanquished with various materials.

“waitress!” some new customer yells, turning on my heel, I notice how the boys are sinking back into their seats at the sight of the new customer and his group of cronies. “I have a name, use it,” I hurl back at him, “I don’t care, get over here,” gripping my fists tightly, I walk over to the table of drunks, with their particulary volatile leader. on one of the boys’ faces I notice a bandage, “Rigo! leave it!” one of them yells, stopping a metre away from the table, I glance across each face.

plastered. far beyond drunk.

“look what we have here lads, a pretty little fat girl.” ouch. that’s taking it a bit far. tiring of their attitude I start to walk away again, “come back here,” one of them grabs the string to my small apron pulling on it, pulling me backwards, “let her go!” the boys are automatically on their feet from where they have been watching the situation like a film. “I would sit down if I were you lads, don’t you remember what happened to cause you to have to wear that bandage?” the ringleader smirks, trying to pull me on top of the table.

not quite the night shift I had been anticipating.

ignoring his remark, the boys walk closer, fantastic, this was not how I had been planning on spending my extra shifts. Rob’s mouth starts to move, I automatically shake my head, instinctivly reaching for the table antiseptic, twisting the nozzle open, I turn to face the drunk ‘lads’ as they insist on calling everyone else. “I’m going to make this nice and clear to you, you are going to leave our diner, and you aren’t going to dampen our threashold with you prescence ever again. do you understand?”

pointing the spray in front of me, ready to spray it in whoever’s eyes are necessary. they all smirk, making another grab for me, diving out the way, I spray it straight in the first person’s eyes, “I’ll spell it out to you, get out!” Mama hearing the comotion walks in, “I taught you well,” she murmurs, “Mama, they made grabs for her, and then refused to leave when she told them to, so she sprayed them,” one of the boys recounts to Mama. and there goes my spring job.

Mama raises her eyebrows, taking the spray bottle she walks up to them, “causing trouble in my diner, is not allowed, my staff has asked you polietly to leave, which you have refused to do, after making grabs at her, at her uniform, and being rude to her, you have been sprayed in the eyes after one of you attempted to grab at her again, now either leave her like good little boys. or I can think of a nice alternative, splash splash.” Mama tells them, but they are too far gone to understand anything in plain English, and this time one of them makes a dive for Mama, “looks like you made that decision,” she huffs under her breath, spraying him in the eyes, and grabbing the diner phone, calling the police.

darting out the back, I take a seat on the step at the fire exit, I know I shouldn’t desert my position, but it was getting too heated in there for me. “hey,” someone sits down beside me, turning slightly I notice it’s Damian, “hi” I reply staring out into the dark backyard of the diner, which faces onto the highway, watching the blurred car lights swoop past. we stare in silence out onto the busy highway, no noise passing between us, “was I too forward?” Damian asks suddenly, “what makes you ask?” sidestepping the question entirely.

“just wondering,” he replies, “you were fine, I wasn’t too harsh?” gazing out onto the highway where the cars are stacking up, “you weren’t, my fault for being too cocky,” the cars are only to be pushed out of the way by the mob of police cars driving towards the small little diner. sighing quietly I shift, “really?” once again I’m dragged out of my daydreaming, “really, and Rob was right, I don’t settle on looks alone. so while it is nice that you clearly go to the gym, I’m not really into that.” Damian smirks slightly, “darling, I don’t go the gym,” he rolls around in fits of laughter, great. so this was puberty at its’ finest.

he smiles at me, “are you ok?” I nod, “run of the mill on the night shifts,” he rolls his eyes, clearly not believing me for a second, in fairness it does sound feeble, even to me. resting my head on his shoulder, I watch the flashing lights dancing off the diner windows as our drunk friends are hauled into the back of the cars, to be kept in a cell. odly enough I have no resounding feelings, just being sat in a comfortable silence with Damian feels more than enough.

fate always finds a way.

#fate

#romance

#life

#nightshift

#food

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

so there it is! my first short story on Prose! I hope you all enjoyed reading it, leave any suggestions, what you liked, what you didn’t, etc. in the comments. don’t forget to give this a like, and make sure to share it! see you next time! ~

Come on, comma! Complicate completely, my carefully crafted creation, my poem.

Add length to a list, you're always listing, it's absolutely lovely!

Come on, comma! Make my voice, give me cadence with my choice of words. Make this seem and sound more human, subtly weaving, trying to lose myself in the rhythm and the flow, and before you know it, the sentence is through.

Wow, that was a long one.

Come on, comma! You semi-semi-colon. You novice author's crutch, my reason for bad grades. Do your job and make this written word seem lively. Is this a poem? Well, I guess that's up to you.

Come on, comma! You underground apostrophe, I know that you know better, do your job! Get on the ground and trail my thoughts together.

As a rule, near-constantly, your syntactical power inspires me to write my thoughts out rhythmically, in time with the pattern only you can see, you make what's boring worth a read, oh comma...

How I love thee.

-CH

I feel like it is safe to say that every human being past the age of two has at least one secret. Whether it be hiding from your children that Santa Claus is mommy Amazon-Priming gifts the night before or that you seem addicted to writing bad Criminal Minds smut (I forgive you–– Derek Morgan is hot), we all have secrets. And that's okay! It's normal and quite natural to have secrets. You know, skeletons in the closet. Stuff like that.

Unless you're like me, and you have an actual, literal skeleton in your closet.

Now, I did not put the skeleton there. I found it yesterday, hanging like a bony coat between my raincoat and my Hello-Kitty bathrobe. Yes, the bleached bones were together like a science-classroom skeleton.

But I know that it is real. Unfortunately. There were little bits of... ickiness still attached. And I found a maggot in one of my slippers. It was a horrifying moment.

Worse than all that, I know whose bones they are.

This past month, a serial killer has been frolicking about my neighborhood. Killing and then stripping all the squishy bits off of the bones. No one has been able to find said bones.

My mom has tried to keep me locked in my bedroom, she's so scared. She's having us eat our earthquake-nonperishables in case the murderer has decided to poison the grocery store.

But I am seventeen years old, and have a very hot boyfriend. Which means, since I cannot leave the house, he sneaks in through the window.

He's new in town, a dreamy bad boy, yada yada yada. No one cares about that (except for me and my hormones). He came as the murders started up. The night before the skeleton showed up in my closet, he asked me if he could stash a body in my room (I thought he meant his body and I bought condoms!).

And then I found the skeleton. I'm 95% sure that it is the class president.

She has suspension powers, given to her by the principal (she's very persuasive). She caught my boyfriend, Teddy, smoking under the bleachers and suspended him. He was not happy.

After I found the body, I started thinking about the people who died, and their recent interactions with Teddy. All of them were negative. The grocer (Teddy had shoplifted gum), the 7-11 cashier (Teddy had shoplifted cigarettes), the Target clerk (Teddy was a serial-shoplifter, among other serial-esc criminal activities, it seems), all dead.

Teddy has a knife collection. He has hunting experience. He interned at a morgue with his dad (that should have been it for me-- morgues are never a good sign). It seems like he is a pretty obvious suspect.

And now, there is a skeleton in my closet. An actual, literal, very smelly skeleton. I know I didn't kill her, and there's only one other viable suspect.

I'm not sure how to proceed. My mom warned my not to date him, said he was trouble. In my defense, I thought he was trouble in, like, a hot way. Not a murder-y one. Guess I was wrong.

Besides, my friends loved him. Probably because of, you know. His face. He has a really nice face. And abs. And other desirable physical features.

I wonder how morally tainted I would be if I just... ignored it. The skeleton, that is. The secret little skeleton in the closet.

Should I call the police? Turn him in? Does it make me an accomplice if the body (or at least part of it) was stashed with me and I didn't report it as soon as I could? I should ask my mom. She's a lawyer, she'd know.

On second thought, I shouldn't. That wouldn't be a particularly fun conversation.

Should I tell my friends? They're always sending those textposts, the you-know-you're-real-friends-if-you'd-bury-a-dead-body-together ones. I wonder how they'd respond if I asked them to help me bury a real one.

I don't think that'd go over well. They'd probably kick me out of the group chat.

Should I call Teddy then? Ask him why the fuck he stashed the class president in my closet? Would he kill me then? The conversation wouldn't go over pleasantly, and all the people he's disagreed with recently have wound up a bundle of bones. And I'm particularly attached to my skin, thank you very much. I take good care of it. Have special creams and stuff. I moisturize.

I'm conflicted. Normal teenagers don't have to debate over dead bodies. I should watch Heathers. Winona Ryder will understand me.

Update: I watched Heathers. It would be a little truamatizing to have a hot murderer blown up behind you. And I don't smoke. It seems Winona doesn't understand me.

That's a little depressing. I hoped she would.

I've kept my closet all locked up since I found the bones, but I need to change. These pajamas smell a little.

Door's now open. Bones still there. Now everything smells bad, and I found a couple of maggots in my new Adidas. Stupid dead body. I've decided to keep on these pajamas.

I'm flirting with the idea of calling the police. I don't know. I don't know what to do.

You know, I'm going to call Stella. She's my best friend. I've popped her back acne before, so she's kind of obligated to help me hide this body.

She's on her way now. She has skeletons in her closet too (figurative ones, of course).

She'll know how to dispose of them.

If not, I'll have to get Teddy to dispose of her.

I can't get my hands dirty. Scholarships on the line and all. And it isn't like I wanted the class president in my closet. Sometimes you have to recognize situations for what they are and then play your cards accordingly.

I just need to get rid of this damn thing before my mom starts to smell it.

Apprehension. Detailed attention

You wake in the morning, but have no thoughts;

An assemblage of dark grey in the mind, fraught

Moonlit conversations prove worthy at two a.m

Gentle spills drip from the faucet of ghost words;

At any other time you would sound absurd

Now listen. Holy contention

Glorification of omissions and clandestine information;

My mind now holds various notations

Demons runs rampant under what used to be comforting twinkles

More than meets the eye is a charcoal soul;

In the years we’ve been separate you lack self control

Forbear from attack. A shrewd coward, you lack

Drunken shrugs and hollow bellied laughs;

The crack of dawn brings me back my class

Beauty beholds many objects, however it just dropped one

I vividly remember that night, while you remember none

Golden drops illuminate my well fixed facade

You dropped a concealment, I lost some trust;

Stuck in an endless game of revealed cat and mouse, I readjust

"I am not a murderer.

A strange way to start this off, but I feel it is important to get that out of the way. I am not a serial killer, I do not relish in the feeling of blood on my hands, and, god forbid, I do not find sexual pleasure in death.

No, no, none of that describes me or my job.

I am a contract killer. After high school, the realization that I was not actually good at anything came. Unable to get a job, I ended up homeless for a while. I floated between shelters when I could, became a quasi-religious soup-kitchen enthusiast and raider of food banks.

Then, I had the misfortune of I finding out that I was rather skilled with a knife. And a gun. And various other weapons. Which was interesting.

And then I found out that assassin-for-hire was a rather lucrative job market. So, I did what any person with nothing to lose does: I jumped on the bandwagon.

Was it a good idea? No. Did I do it anyway? Yeah. I mean, I was desperate. I only had two pairs of socks. No one realizes how much they love socks until they only have two.

The first time I killed someone was before I stepped into this line of work. It was in self defense. A man tried to rape me, which is not uncommon for homeless folk such as I was. I had a knife which I had stolen from a food bank, and I stabbed him with it. How I felt when I saw the blood bloom from his stomach, when I saw him turn from a person into a thing had no parallel. Don’t get me wrong, it was horrifying. But at the same time, I had never felt as powerful as I did then. The death went unnoticed, which goes without saying. No one has a care for the homeless, especially not law enforcement.

I did a little research at the library (free internet!) and found out how much money killers-for-hire make. And it was a lot.

It should be understandable that I decided to try my hand at it.

I found a website one of the articles had said that the assassins found their work at. I haunted it for a couple of weeks until the library asked me to stop coming, so I moved my operation to an internet cafe (a dying breed). Finally, someone contacted me (@devilmaycare666, which was a little spot-on for my liking) and offered me a job.

It was low-profile, they said. An average Joe that owed some money. He had been warned but refused to pay the loan shark back, and now they wanted someone to take him out. I decided not to tell them that this was my first real time, because I needed the money. The shelters I frequented had barred their doors when they found out I had been stealing from them. I hadn’t slept in a real bed in two weeks, and cardboard mattresses aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.

My first kill was pretty sloppy, but I got the job done. Broke in through a window, found the guy asleep in a tornado of chinese takeout boxes. I wanted to slit his throat all classy-like, like in the movies, but I found it doesn’t work that way. Had to hack through his windpipe, which is as messy as it sounds. I threw up in his bathtub after. Then I stole his cash and socks. It was necessity.

That hit paid for a stay in a cheap motel where I researched the real ways to kill a man. My next hit paid for a nicer hotel, and the next one an even nicer one.

I ended up a proper entrepreneur. I had a skill-set that certain people required, and I marketed that skill-set accordingly. I ended up with some job offers from some mafias (the most interesting way I was almost recruited was a letter in some matzo-ball soup. The Jewish mafia has an odd sense of humor), but I always stayed free-lance. Made more money that way, you see.

And money was all that mattered to me, because I had none for so long. When I fell asleep on my memory-foam mattress, I remembered the asphalt of the elementary school that I slept by. When I had shark-fin soup, I remembered the thin tomato that the soup kitchens offered. When I slid my cashmere socks on every morning, I laughed.

Everything fell apart three years ago. By then, I owned a brownstone in Brooklyn with my ex-model wife and our three Persian Greyhounds. My wife grew nationally-recognized orchids since retiring (we didn’t need the extra income). She knew nothing of my line of work and was happy with that. I am ashamed to say that she was a much of a symbol of wealth to me as my dogs were. I’d never met her parents. I didn’t know her favorite place or food or smell or anything. She had told me she wanted to adopt kids, like Angelina Jolie, and I had laughed. We slept in separate beds. She spent of her time relishing in my wealth, not caring where it came from, and I spent most of my time making more of it.

I was efficient in my killings now. No more windpipe-hacking. I aimed for the jugular, wore gloves, never left a print or a hair behind. Still, the police found me.

They took the prints off of my first hit, linked them to a DUI I had gotten (in my bullet-gray Ashton-Martin, gorgeous). I wasn’t that surprised when they came for me. My wife shed crocodile tears as I was cuffed. The dogs shit all over the hand-knotted kashmir carpet.

In prison, the guards brought me some of the tabloids. My wife, splashed across covers (I didn’t know he was a killer!, etc.). I tore the pages out and used them as toliet paper. She would have done the same. We were both opportunists.

I suppose it’s fitting, me sitting here, waiting for the fatal injection. A sort of poetic irony. After years of fighting it in court, the police linked my prints and methods to hundreds of murders around the country. They missed some, too. I was sentenced to death.

And here I am, waiting to die.

Still, I maintain that I am not a murderer. I did not kill for fun, or for sport. I killed because it was the only choice I had. The blood of those I killed lays not on my hands, but on those who paid me. I am not a murderer so much as a knife or a gun is. I am a tool that was put in the wrong hands.

I suppose it is not my choice to make. Though I believe that I am an innocent, the law disagrees. That’s fine. I guess those I killed felt they were innocent as well."

Noah Lablos, on his deathbed, 16/9/2018. He leaves all his money to his dogs, in hopes that they grow to be as fat and rich as he was.