Face the Truth

You know how sometimes you wake up and just don’t give a shit? It can be attributed to many things. Waking up on the wrong side of the bed, a bad night’s sleep in general, a bad night before, etcetera. You understand what I’m saying: the list goes on. But at some point you get over it. After your morning cup of coffee, that afternoon, when you get off work, whatever. I’m tired of making lists. The point is we all have bad days and we all get over it. Usually. What about the people that don’t though? What about the person that wakes up not giving a shit and just never gives a shit again? What if it cost him his life? Or better yet what if it cost someone else their life? Someone who has nothing to do with the situation. That’s fucked up right? What if they do have something to do with the situation? Does that make it any better? What if that person was me? Whether I’m the killer or the killed is really a matter of perspective. To add to the list of things I’m tired of, ironically enough I’ve already added “making lists,” asking questions is now on the list. But to be quite honest, I really don’t give a shit.

“What started all of this?” you may ask. In all honesty I don’t really know, but if I did would I tell you? Can you think of one possible reason that I have to be honest with you? Especially now that you’ve got me asking questions again, and you already know how I feel about that. Then again questions are unavoidable. So maybe I should thank you. Who knows? If you’re wondering what I’m doing right now then you are a fucking idiot. I’m writing. Obviously. Have you ever heard the phrase “never say never?” Well I never really put much thought into that.

What I did put thought into was how I was going to do it. And don’t even think about asking me what “it” is. All good things in time young padawan. You may be wondering who I am at this point. I am a disease for which there is no cure. Or maybe I’m a cure for a disease that doesn’t exist. I often confuse the two. For all intents and purposes you may call me Lesslie. You may be wondering at this point if I’m a woman, and a woman that can’t spell for that matter. The answer is “no” to both. My last name was altered by my mother, because she did not want me taking my bastard father’s last name or hers. Since she had prayed for a girl to name her “Leslie” and her god gave her me, she made my last name “Lesslie.” She had attempted at being clever and giving me a name that would not be confused as feminine. She failed at both in my opinion, more so at the first intent listed. But now I’m beginning to ramble. And if there’s one thing I hate more than questions, it’s rambling. Good thing I don’t give a shit right?

But the story must go on.

They say money can’t buy you happiness. Try telling that to the poor. Or better yet, try being poor. Give all of your money away to charity and be poor, and tell me if you become happier. People often compare and get their information regarding being rich/poor from Biblical times. But who gives a fuck about Biblical times? The only thing being rich did was buy you a nicer chair to sit in. Hardly the difference between the poor and rich of today. And as far as that’s concerned, I can only imagine that the people that couldn’t afford food or shelter in Biblical times weren’t the happiest of people either. It’s too bad the Bible didn’t focus on the miserable people of time period. The ones that didn’t happen to be where Jesus was, because let’s face it, he barely went out of his way. You were either on the way or not.

I don’t consider myself a religious man, but I have modeled my life after that aspect. I won’t go out of my way for people, but you better hope He helps you if you’re in the way. I’m not a betting man, but if I was, I’d bet the odd’s weren’t in your favor. Thankfully though I only ran into one person in my life. Let me rephrase that. I will only run into one person in my life. But by the time you read this, it will have happened. So past tense, present tense, or future tense is really your call. I try not to get hung up in the details.

Fuck it. I think you’ve waited long enough to hear how the story ends. I’m not a dramatic killer. I would never hold someone at gunpoint. I would never threaten or warn. I would just decide, and then let it be done. My victim would never know what hit them. Never feel any pain. And neither would their families. I would never kill someone with a family. Shedding blood is no big deal really. But shedding tears? That’s emotion. And I don’t like getting hung up in emotions. As far as a weapon, is there really anyway to go other than a pistol and meet my standards? Killing is a powerful thing, and dying even more so. I’ll load the gun and I’ll set my sites on my victim’s head. And without any hesitation I’ll pull the trigger. And it’ll all be over. But the question is: who will be the victim?

-Face