The dark figure stands over me as I open my eyes. “Good, you’re awake.” the figure says as it morphs into a woman with tight lips and a stricter stare. She walks across the floor as I pop upwards. “How did you get in here!” I howl as I pat for my 1911, but it isn’t there. “It’s not how, but why, dear. Why am I here, you very well know why.” she sits on top of my dresser, playing with my pistol. I stare blankly at her, hating for what she did, but at the same moment, I don’t. Her lips twist into an even tighter smile. “No worry, I shall explain it to you, sweetheart. See we gave you a job…” I interrupt her. “I never wanted this job, I never chose it!” Her lips become a line before her counterfeit laugh comes out. “You did choose this silly head, you can’t go meddling in the world’s affairs without a few heads being turned. No, you chose this, you did, and it’s yours.” My breath becomes rapid, then slows as she hops down from the dresser. “Can you promise me no one I love will get hurt if I do this?” I ask in a meek tone, unsure of what I was actually asking for. Setting the gun on the dresser she walks over and sits down on the bed. Brushing my face with her hand she answers me. “Honey, we don’t make promises, those are for the feeble.” as quickly as she was here, she is gone.
I try to disguise myself from myself as I pick through the envelopes on the coffee table. Each is the same, the same picture, the same face, the same crimes. I gulp glass after glass of water trying to muster up the courage to become something I didn’t dream of becoming. But then I recall, as if struck, that I am, who I am. I angrily read the time and place out loud. I go with a puff to stop crimes, with a crime.
The dirty street, the shitty weather, does not calm my anger but excites it. Kicking the door, it seems to understand my intentions so it lies flat on the ground. They spring upwards one by one. My pistol flashes, and one by one they fall back down. I am not a marksman, but the rage inside me keeps my aim straight. 8+1, they fall. I stick the pistol in my trousers, kicking the Thompson into the air, barely catching it, I’m not an action hero dammit. I run up the stairs with a racket, they pepper the top with round after round. I get some drywall or paint into my mouth. I spit, then use the tommy gun to spit. I hear them scream, or I think I do. Needless I walk up rest of the stairs. The bathroom door border shines from the light held within. Walking down the hall, holes appear in the door. Click, then another, then another. As the light bleeds from the bathroom I kick the door without seeing if it was locked. She crouches in the claw foot tub still dry firing the pistol. I inhale, I exhale, unable to do it I drop the gun. I go back home.
She stands there as I stand there, two spaces occupied indifferent from each other, almost the same. I want to swing at her, crack a line in those thin lips, but I don’t. “Sweetheart, what’s the matter?” she asks, though she knows full well what the matter is. “Who in the fuck are you?” I ask falling to my knees. “Do you always ask inane questions?” I cover my face not wanting to reply. “You might think you’re important like something is different about you. I have to say, honey, you’re not unique.” I can feel her presence over me, with tear covered eyes I shout “Then why is it that you’re here!” The urge to strike her comes again. She chuckles, then with piercing tone of knowledge she speaks. “I am here because of our needs, and not yours. As you are now but a speck in time, nothing important or great but just a blip of existence. Existing just as the rest, dear. If you will take a moment to realize. We are not merely here to harm but to improve. We can, you can help humanity along its marginal time here by pointing it to the right.” Her legs and arms twist around me, pulling me to the floor, the wonderful floor. “Is this not where you belong, a piece of crap on the ground, or something possibly better? So, unique, no. I can say I am interested.” The floor turns into another, as the clicks resonate from another room.
I hear the gun slap against the tiles. “You’re here, dear, play your part.” she says. Within a whisk of a thought, her body that was once twisted around me is gone. Picking myself up I hear the woman scream as a man, who used to be me, disappears in front of her. She sobs as I enter the bathroom once again. Calm and collected I pick-up the gun, I guess everyone feels angry sometimes. I believe she screams, but I will perpetually pretend she said nothing as the red of her life splashes against the walls.
I dump the water away as I fill the glass full with vodka, though it wasn’t where I left it. I want to cry, I want to puke, I want to die, but I do none of those things. I fill myself, more, and more, till I can no longer stand. Cowering on the floor someone helps me to my bed.
My chest bare, by soul vacant, but a ghost. Her thin lips press against my forehead. “Hello, honey.” I try to coil away, but I was far too everything to do anything. “Don’t worry, you did good last night.” She lies next to me. “I guess I should answer you now that all is done, my name is Edna.” She brushes the sweat from my brow, then whispers to me “Don’t you worry, it gets easier over time.” I drift off into a drunken slumber.