 Here I am, sitting in an uncomfortable chair with a dirty glass of cheap whiskey, staring at the long outdated wood-paneled walls complimented by lime-green carpet. This motel should have been knocked down when I was a kid. I look down slowly at the phone beside me. A small smile starts to creep out of the corner of my mouth. This is what I've been waiting for. Your room looks nice, man, but I can't see anything with those blinds in the way. Move them apart a little. What do you say? I shake my head comically and start texting back immediately. Nice try, dickhead. The place I'm at doesn't have blinds. Yeah, didn't have a quick response for that, did ya, tough guy? As soon as I finished that thought, the familiar ding once again emanated from my cellular device. I'm just messing with you. I know where you are. Figured maybe you'd like a little more fun before this happens. This text was followed by another. Are you drunk already again? Or should I give you some time to get started? I again start pecking away. You already know the answer to that. I'm sure your employer briefed you all about my traits and my faults. Radio silence. Just enough time to finish up the last bit of whiskey. Man, that's awful. For those that are addicted to something, I mean truly addicted. You can't explain to anyone how much you want to quit. It's a horrible battle. I found that the worst part of addiction is that I don't enjoy the feeling anymore. I don't like being drunk. I have to be drunk. To exist. I never smoked, but the people that do have conveyed that same thought to me. I used to be an operator. It's a long complicated story, but I can sum it up easily. I am called when a high value target needs to go quiet. Sure, you're probably thinking of the word hip man right now. I can't say you're wrong. I started legitimate though. I served my country. And then as a public servant, I have seen more insanity than most. That's the only history lesson you'll get on me. My phone vibrated again. Sorry, had to make sure a few other contracts were going as planned. You understand. I sure do. And with that, I understand that you and I are in the same line of work. I am semi retired, but technically still in, I suppose. In this line of work, you're not done until you're done. The only upside of being a contract killer beside the money is that you get to network with some of the most dangerous people in the world. They will come in handy in your lifetime. Believe me, I picked up my phone. Sure, bud. So don't mean to be rude, but uh, when is this happening? You uh, you don't know where I am, do you? Please. I already told you, I'm just playing with my food for a bit. Okay, sure. Keep stalling. Are you a professional or not? I am. I'm doing this for fun though. It's more of a hobby. Bullshit. Just come get me. I'm ready. I didn't want to let on that I really was enjoying myself, but I'm ready to go. I've seen and done everything I could imagine. I've loved and lost. I've created a couple little people that grew up into big people. And thank God they don't share my skillset. They both got their respective mother's intelligence. I can't keep going though. I'm sick mentally and physically. Since I know my time is limited anyway, I wanted to hire someone to hunt and kill me. Not a completely original idea, as I've been on the other end more times than I can count, but I think the end of my life will be complete when I finally, finally see what it's like being on that side of the gun knife or whatever this guy decides to use. My ad didn't state that the murder weapon had to be anything specific. So this, this is my suicide note. Some poor housekeeper will find my body. Hopefully it won't be too disgusting. Guess it depends on what they choose. Honestly, not ideal. But I would of course rather have a stranger find me than anyone I know. And I'm in a dingy motel on the bad side of town. They deal with this all the time. I've contributed myself. I have to say earlier that I was bluffing, and I'm not entirely sure if my hitman was bluffing too. I said he didn't even know where I was, but truthfully I'm not sure. He could have been right outside for all I know. I did tell the truth about having no blinds in my room. It has curtains. I wasn't the type to play around when I was on the job. I know some guys are, so I guess I'm dealing with one of them. Well, as long as the end result is me dying, I'm gonna fight a little. It wouldn't be fun otherwise. But otherwise though, I'm completely ready to go. My phone buzzed again. Ah, the Mona Lisa Hotel. Skid Row, huh? Hey, congrats, junior detective. You finally found me. Now, out of a hundred rooms, you have to see what hole this mouse is in. Ha, appropriate. Cause I'm the big cat, bro. I pinched the bridge of my nose with my left thumb and forefinger. Oh my god, this guy's cringey. Just do it already. I wasn't inviting him to join my analogy of being a mouse for him to say he was a cat. It's just, I'm sorry, I'm getting a little carried away. Wow, maybe I'm starting to get nervous. I've never had this feeling before. I laugh a bit, looking inside my own head. I'm about to die. This is kind of unreal, to be honest. But I'm not upset. This is what I chose. And this is what I'm gonna follow through with. Yeah, you know I'm close now. You know, that cat line was kind of cringy. Sorry. Ah, a self aware hitman. You know, it won't take me long to find out what room you're at. Do you want to just make it easier for me? All right. Tell you what, I'll play a game with you. I see that's your kind of thing. The room number I'm in is my favorite baseball player of all time. I don't know if you'll get this, but I did drop a few hints when I was making the arrangement with his employer, a well known hip man that is very precise, a hit man that I trust and should choose the best man for the job. I couldn't ask him to do it, because he's too old and too well known to me. I need the killer to be a stranger. I made reference to not only my favorite player, but actually dropped the number in the email at least twice, if I remember right. As it's established, I drink a lot. So my memory is about as good as a chimp. Hey, fantastic. Give me a second. I'm gonna consult my sources. I assume that means he has to go back and read the contract from his boss. I don't blame him better than blindly guessing and bursting into every room here until he finds me. Ken Griffey Jr. Damn, that was fast. I'll be there soon. Clever. I'd be lying if I said I was disappointed he knew the answers so quickly. I wanted him to know. But I actually spent a lot of time on that little Easter egg. I guess it's easy if you're a baseball fan, but I assumed whoever was going to kill me was a younger man. And since baseball isn't popular, well, you get it. And Ken Griffey Jr., the man with the sweetest left-handed swing I've ever seen, hasn't played ball for about 11 years. I guess I'm glad he figured it out, though. Time for another drink may be my last. You know, I think your boss picked the right person. I won't play around any longer. No more puzzles or banter. Yes, I'm in room 24. It's unlocked. I sat there just staring in my phone. I eventually turned it over on its face just to relieve me of the pain. I won't be here much longer. I pulled out my last meal from the Rite Aid bag on the biohazard known as the bed, a Reese's Pieces Cup package. That's all I want. And it's perfect for this occasion. It's simple, clean, and of course delicious. My phone buzzes again. A thumbs up emoji. I stared into the wall for a moment, probably longer than I remember. Slowly getting out of the chair, feeling like my spine and knees will completely give out. I made my way to the shower. No point in worrying about how disgusting the room is now. I'm going to cleanse myself like the Spartans did before a battle, like they did when they knew that they were destined to die. I don't have any olive oil to rub all over me. I try to think of everything, but in my current state of mind, I think you can forgive me. After a long shower, the bathroom is foggy with steam. I step out, wipe off a small spot on the mirror just to see my own eyes. The eyes that have killed, destroyed, hurt. But alas, the eyes that have helped, loved, and hurt. No time to get regretful or sentimental. I'm dressed. I'm ready. I go back to my chair. I'm in the furthest corner from the door. I want to watch all this go down. My phone buzzes, but I don't look at it. I keep my eyes focused on the entrance. I need to see the person responsible for taking my life. After all, I've paid a huge fee and they better be worth it. Alright, fine. If you won't answer your phone, I'll just talk to you like cave people used to communicate. I hear coming from outside the room. Yeah, yeah, we can do that. We can talk like civilized people before we find our conclusion. I half yell. But there was no more talking. The door seems to disintegrate as some type of explosive charge rocks my room, and probably most of the building, the window next to it even shatters. I temporarily shield my eyes from the debris. When I lower my guard, open my eyes. I see my son ready to kill me. Well, that's not how it exactly happened. I did die that day. I died right after the first text came in. As I was replying to the question about the blinds, the guy came in and almost choked my head off. Not that exciting. I hired him. I was the employer. I know that. What I don't know is where I am right now. I can't tell if I'm in heaven, hell or purgatory. I relive this day every day. I think this is my punishment. The worst part is believing that my son would be happy to kill me. Maybe he would. I thought I had questions in life. I didn't know how many questions you could have. After death.