My RoomateThe Assassin

Be it small, or be it huge: people make mistakes. And to prove that, our parents and teachers had constantly been reminding us the same thing, throwing crap at us stating that no one is perfect.

Which, in a way, is disappointingly true.

If people were perfect, then there wouldn't be a course in plastic surgery now would there?

You see, I made a mistake. It's not a small mistake, sadly to say. It's actually a pretty huge mistake. I don't know if I was the cause of it, but I had fun blaming it all on fate who had been screwing with me for the past few months.

Take this morning for example. I fed a stray cat milk since it looked hungry. After that I released it in the midst of the city. As I was about to turn and head back to my apartment, I saw the cat got ran over by a tour bus!

I wonder how hard it must be for the tour guide to say, "And you could already see the White House from here...um, please ignore the fact that we had just ran over a cat."

Me and my weird imaginations.

That aside, a few months ago I held up an advertisement. I need to find a roommate, fast. The reason being I was in the middle of a financial crisis.

Soon, I found it very hard to pay my rent, let alone the bills and my constant need for novels and food.

No one answered the ad.

Until one night, while I was in the bathtub, someone suddenly called me. I got out of my bubbly heaven and went to pick up the wireless phone.

"Hello, Amelia here," I answered casually.

"Hey, uh...I'm Landon Henderson...calling about the ad," he answered.

Honestly, if I can't control my excitement, I would have hyperventilated and scream into the phone. But that would scare him off.

Trying to sound really smart and professional, I said, "Oh yeah, there are a lot of applicants..." I trailed off.

I've no idea why I'm lying. He's the only one who had called me about the ad.

"...but I guess I can find time for another interview," I said. The other line was silent.

"Can I come and see the place first?" he asked.

"Of course," I replied curtly. "So when are you free?"

"Tomorrow evening would be fine," I said. "Around 7 maybe?"

"I'll make sure I'll come," he replied stiffly. Without saying anything, he hung up. Talk about rude behavior. Seeing as it's pointless to go back and continue to drift away in my bathtub, I went to change into something more decent than just bathrobe.

I switched on the TV.

"The victim had been identified as Mr. Jonathan Abington - an active writer who is notorious for writing many political-based book. This had been the 4th murder of this week, and the police still haven't found any trace of evidence yet--"

I rolled my eyes, switching to another channel. Who the heck wants to kill a political-based writer? Or did Mr. Jonathan Abington there bored the readers to death that maybe one of them had start to act homicidal.

I paid no attention to murders these days. While others are frightened, I could stay oddly calm. Maybe it's because I was too naive and too stupid to think that it won't happen to me. I mean, what are the odds of being brutally stabbed to death?

Landon Henderson was a 24 years old man that you could stare at all day without getting tired of it. His hair was black to match his gray eyes. It makes him look almost too mysterious actually. While others might find it attractive, I just found it scary.