The Janitor's Closet

Umbra [October 2014]

I killed a man today.

I guess I should feel guilty, but I'm past that point now. The first time... The first time was awful. The blood soaked into my definitely and the man's empty eyes, bore into mine acc void of life. I didn't feel guilty. I've never have. But it was a weird feeling, knowing I had been the one to end him. That day something changed in me. That day I become what I am today: An assassin.

After the first few times, it was easier. The blood didn't affect me that much, I didn't mind getting dirty. Then it became addicting. I loved the rush of the kill, the fear of my victim, the sight of the thick, crimson liquid spilling on the floor. I felt powerful.

When I got my first job, I was nervous. It was a lot of money for one measly kill, I was suspicious and overly cautious, but it went perfectly.

Everything started working from there. I got richer and richer with every person I killed. I got lots of jobs offers, but I declined some- it made me feel important, in control.

For a few years everything was great. The police couldn't catch me. They tried –oh, how they tried– but their efforts were fruitless. Umbra they called me.  The name was all over the papers. I loved it. I loved how I scared them, how I was smarter than them, how I was on top of the world and they couldn't do a single thing about it.

That's when I made my first mistake. I don't know what happened, I don't remember nor I care, but it cost me dearly. Before I knew it, they were on my track. Everything was starting to fall apart, and so, I went into hiding.

I travelled the world, going from one place to another, never staying in the same location for too long. I went to every city worth visiting. I did things, saw things, people only dream of. The authorities stopped looking for me. I was free. But I wasn't content. I missed the feel of a weapon in my hand, the thrill of the kill. I wanted to be Umbra again.

One night, I picked up a knife and killed again. And just like that, Umbra was back.

The world feared me again. I was untouchable. Uncatchable. I got cocky and my arrogance led me into hot water. I got into trouble with Them. That was my second mistakes.

They are the worst there is. They should never be messed with. They went after me.

There's no escaping Them. They are close, I know, and so is my demise. I don't mind. I've done everything I wanted to do. I've lived my life the way I wanted to. My time is nearing. It's kind of ironic, I've killed so many people, watched so many lives fade, yet I'm not scared of death.

I only regret one thing: I've heard many love stories, many tales about passionate lovers, yet I have never experienced said emotion. I've never had someone to tell my biggest fears or my deepest secrets. I've never had a friend, someone to share my life with, but then again, there are not many people in this world that would accept what I do.

That's why I'm writing this letter. Because I want someone, even if it's someone I'll never meet, to know my story. So when I die, I'll know that I've had something remotely close to what people call a friend.

I guess all I can say now is thank you, unknown reader, for you just made a dead man's last wish come true.

My deepest regards,

Umbra.