Stale Blood and Affection

Disclaimer... This fiction is about a former assassin so, there will be mention of deaths, gloom and other unhappy stuff. Viewers discretion is advised.

Death isn't scary, at least not to me. Maybe I'm wrong but death to me is peace and silence and if I'm wrong, I can only hope that decisions and the ability to make decisions are no longer in my hands. I have already made too many bad ones in my life. If the burdens of choices, decisions, sides and paths are lifted from my shoulder in death then, death is good. If death only allows one state of being; only rest, only torture, only darkness, only peace. even if I get tossed into the side of only torture then death is good.

The scariest thought to me is, what if there's another cognitive decision filled life after death? What if death is just leaving this one and waking up to another reality? What if after this death, I just start over and I still have to choose which shirt, I have to wear, which shoe, Which job I should take on, which path should I take? What if I make the same decisions all over again? Even if the situations are not the same, I don't think I want to do this again. I can't deal with the thought of another life. Just look what I've done with this one.

~~~~~~~~~~

Blood everywhere, flesh, flies and that smell. Except it isn't that smell. This smell is less horrid less human. Animal blood. This realization relieves me and helps me breath.

I am inside the meat shop in town. The wall are an old and ugly pastel green, my shoes are brown and made of animal leather, my hands are... Covered in blood.. but not human blood. I didn't kill anyone. I spaced out, I just spaced out. Seconds after the blank out like usual, I am overcome with anger at myself and my mind for participating in this weak, scaredy cat nonsense. I'm fine. Absolutely and positively fine.