The Deceased

The Deceased

I write this a dead man. My body just doesn’t know it yet; I was declared dead three days ago, by someone I’d not seen in years. This old friend, or maybe we were enemies, heard of my latest success, a trivial thing to be sure. From this he decided I’d outdone him for the last time, and made some calls to people in the problem business.

I stumbled over the first one, a clumsy oaf with small dreams of being a thug. He thought to knife me, got too close and I flipped him over the balcony of my apartment. Someone thought to give the new guys a chance first, I guess.

The second had more brains than the first, but not by much. I was at the fair when he shot at me and missed; gotta love those shooting gallery guns. Anyway, I lost him in the hall of mirrors; I love mazes and the reflections would only work in my favor. I managed to knock him out and he answered some questions when he woke. He answered pretty quickly; he only lost a couple toes before he died.

I’ve had to be more careful since then; there’s been two more attempts, by real pros. I never saw either one, and took a slug in the shoulder from the second. Soon enough he’ll come, the one to make reality fit my friend’s decree. I don’t know how many more days I can outwit and outfight them, but I’m guessing not long… not long until the enddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd