Immortal misfits

Long time no see

Honestly, I don't know why in movies and tv shows being immortal is such a bad thing, I mean yes sometimes it does get boring but do I find a way to keep entertained? Well of course. 

Obviously, in the 21st century, everything is much more interesting with technology but when you've lived for almost 500 years you start to get bored with humans and their toys. It gets kind of annoying being the only immortal in existence, well except for one other person but they're taken care of. Throughout my time on earth, I have learnt 2 things:

people don't give a shit about your opinion and they decide if you're worth talking too, not you.

When I found out about these words of wisdom 380 years ago I decided that these rules will not apply to me I would make them give I shit about my opinion and make sure they know I'm worth talking to. I know I know I may sound a bit forceful well I am.

 People think that I am a spoiled brat you may to you're not wrong on that part all though anyone who has told me it either to the face or behind my back has lost their head.

"You celebrating something?" questioned the bartender already topping up my untouched drink

"Isn't every day a celebration?" I replied

"Mmhm" sass lined her voice but not a single drop of interest lining it as she rested her elbow on the alcohol-soaked bench, interest lost. 

Not that I was looking for anybody's interest these days, but it would have been nice to see her expression when she finds out the lady who drinks she keeps topping up is a convicted murderer who escaped prison less than 2 weeks ago. 

I always managed to find something exciting to fill my time, turns out prison is not it. It wasn't that I didn't like the clothes or the food or even the people, those things were all alright.

It was the fact that I got sent to solitary for most of my time in that guard-house because I was being too disruptive amongst the other prisoners like news flash we're not in high school.

Despite my temptation to confess my life's sins to a stranger on a Tuesday night, I didn't, I have some self-control. 

After a few minutes or maybe longer I sometimes can't tell I stole a bottle of the very cheap and very addictive alcohol that the bartender filled my glass with and went and started the walk to the roof. The stairs were too steep for even my comfort and took all my drunken-arse concentration not to fall.

Once I reached the top I found a large metal door waiting for me.

I chuckled softly at my drowsy luck, sighed and yanked the door open.

I pushed a brick with the side of my foot to keep the door open, I am not getting locked out. The air was sharp and polluted, nothing besides the usual may be slightly cooler than expected for a regular spring night. I sucked in a short breath hoping to magically become sober and continued my walk into the night.

 The roof is large with a scarred concrete floor, a few chairs are surrounding the otherwise neglected space. My wine red Stilettos loudly clicked as I made my way across halting a few feet away from the edge and waited.

The wind grew harsh and continuously whipped across my face as I stood unmoving from the position I'm standing in. My gaze flew over the well-lit city as I kept my ears and whole body alert listening and examining my surroundings, never losing focus to the matter at hand. 

I took a sip from my hidden flask in hope that my insides would warm as the liquid went through my body the air continued to become cooler as the seconds, minutes and then hours passed, they were always shocking when it comes to timing.

I bit my lip and started fiddling with my fingers to warm them up and keep them from getting stiff, I will most likely need them for fighting. I checked the stolen watch on my wrist, 3:27 it is almost certainly there, making me wait to make me paranoid, tired and cold. Luckily only one of those things is working, the cold part.

I continued to drink the alcohol I kept secret till I drained the whole thing. Their trick isn't even working, it's just making me agitated and that is not my best look. One more hour that's it and them I'm leaving this abandoned roof and that disgusting bar and going to my large bed with pillows and satin sheets and sleeping for a good seven hours.

My patience is soon to run out and even though I am immortal I still get tired and cold and bored and annoyed. Fury continuously rushed through my veins as I thought of all the ways I would punish them for making me stand in the cold when they know I'm here and waiting for them very patiently for me I might add.

I'm not violent just as long as you don't shit me off I won't shit you off I'm fair, enough. You break my nail I'll break your fingers and toes. Tit for tat, tat for tit fair is fair and revenge is my favourite dish and I always make sure to serve it cold.

I may not be a violent person but I am one for the dramatics and it is no secret. From clothing to assassinations I always make sure people know who I am and what I want from them and how they fit into my life not how I fit into theirs. That's how my life has been for three hundred years give or take.

I quickly dragged my attention from thoughts and to the soft presence of someone being there. I may be paranoid or just so bored that my brain has decided to conjure up some false action to keep me from going insane which is likely to happen. 

But I still treat that presence as though it is there and that means silently taking out my dagger and getting into a fighting stance.

Even though now we have guns I still find daggers more fun and painful, plus what's a fight without a hunt as well it's a cheat. An easy way to get out of doing all the hard and proper work of killing, That's also another reason why I use daggers.

Turns out that presence wasn't imagined. I tumbled over and he pounced and landed on top of me, a knife to my throat.

 A small drop of blood slid down my neck from the pure sharpness of the blade, I bit my lip allowing more blood to fall down my neck I stared deeply into his eyes, he kept his pretence of calmness up more or less at least he hasn't forgotten everything I taught him.

"Long time no see, Oliver," I said, breaking the silence and some of the killing tension, hopefully.

"A hundred years to be exact" he replied gritting his teeth so hard I could hear them grinding together.

"Are you going to stop pouting? otherwise I might have to put you back there I've even made a few adjustments, just for you."

"You're not in a position to threaten me right now." he twisted the blade to a slightly sharper angle preparing to slit my throat.

"Are you sure about that?" I poked my dagger softly in his side and with a harder shove, it would go straight through his heart.