Confessional

Can you keep a secret? Like really keep a secret? Because what I’m about to tell you is something that I’ve been holding in for years, and I feel like I really need to tell someone before I explode. You can? Great, I knew I could count on you.

I really don’t enjoy killing. Not at all. That’s not to say I can’t kill, no, I can definitely kill, but I don’t enjoy it. That may seem silly to you considering my profession, but it’s the truth.

So why did I become an assassin? Well, I’d like to say that the money was good, or that I used to enjoy killing but I lost my passion for it ages ago, but the truth is more depressing. I became one because of my parents.

Yeah, I know, that has to be the most cliche response in the world. Becoming something for my parents? How many lawyers, politicians, and even dictators have that exact same origin story? Quite a few of them actually. How do I know? When they know that they’re about to die, they usually start spilling out random stuff about their life to me. Trust me, being an assassin requires being a people person. It’s no different from being a bartender or a stripper. After a while, you’re used to people telling you stuff. Mostly to avoid dying, but also to just get things off their chest. It’s best that way. I think confessing a whole lot of stuff before you die makes you less scared of death. Like you’re writing your own conclusion paragraph.

Where was I? Right, being forced into assassination. I wasn’t really sure what else to be by the time I was 18. My whole life my parents kept telling me that being an assassin was family tradition, it would lead to an exciting life, it was the career they’ve been training me towards, and they would kill me if I refused. Plus, they were my folks, how could I tell them no? It would have broken their hearts to know they would have to stab mine. So I did what any obedient kid would do and did what they said.

And you know what? I knew it wasn’t right for me as soon as I started my first mission. I don’t even remember the guy’s name, but what I do know was that he wasn’t even a bad guy. Just some poor schmuck that was at the wrong place at the wrong time, and it was my job to kill him. Assassins usually get to pick and choose jobs, but I was the new guy, and I couldn’t afford that luxury yet. So I took the case and began following him.

And as I stalked the dude, I was relieved to find that he was a bit of a scumbag. Sure, he was a good dad and did charity, but he also cheated on his wife and had a drug addiction he was hiding. And so I thought maybe he did deserve to die.

But on the day I was actually supposed to do it, I froze. I was ready, I knew his schedule like the back of my hand, and I knew what I had to do to make it look like an accident, but I just couldn’t move. So what if he was a cheater and a druggie? Did that mean he deserved to die? I said screw it and drove away.

Now what I did wasn’t something I did lightly. Turning down a job is one thing, but abandoning it while you’re in the middle of it? That’s a death sentence. I knew assassins would be sent after me, probably my own parents, so I made sure to lay low. I disguised myself and went around the country so no one could find me. As you probably guessed, it didn’t go as planned.

I was sitting in a motel room when they kicked the door open. Sure enough, it was my parents there. By that point I was just relieved that something had finally happened. I was tense the entire time I was hiding as I waited for assassins to jump out of the shadows to kill me. Now that I saw them, I knew it was over.

But then they said something that surprised the hell out of me. Turns out they were trying to find me so they could give me an envelope. It was my payment for killing the guy. They congratulated me on making the car crash look like an accident, and for a second I bought it. I bought that this guy coincidentally died on the day I was supposed to kill him, but then I looked into my parents’ eyes.

As I stared back at them, I knew for a fact that it was no coincidence. My parents had helped me this one time, but one time was all I was ever going to get. My next job was to kill a woman that was at the wrong place at the wrong time. She had 5 kids, was a beloved teacher, and had survived cancer. I shot her in the back.

My parents died a while back, and for the record, no I didn’t kill them. They died from illness. I think. It’s always hard to tell when you’re in this line of work, but I’m pretty sure they died naturally. Well as about as natural as coughing up blood and forgetting who you are is.

And when I went to their funeral, I realized that I was finally free. Yeah, I was sad that they were gone- they were ruthless killers, but they were still my parents- but I no longer had to be in the profession. I had gained enough trust in the community to leave the assassin life, and now the only people who really cared about me being an assassin were gone.

But here’s the thing. Freedom is scary. What could I do besides assassination? Retire? Go back to college? Meet the right girl and start a family? The possibilities were endless. My folks died 2 years ago, and I’m still going around the world and killing people. I don’t enjoy it, but I can’t picture myself doing anything else.

That’s all I really have to say. Thanks for listening to all of this crap I had in my head, I really appreciate it. I just figured that since you were a Catholic priest that confessing this to you would be fitting.

You’re probably wondering why you can’t move anything right now. It’s because I slipped a drug into your drink. I call it my “unholy water.” Sorry, bad joke. And you’re probably curious about why they sent me to kill you. I know what you’re thinking, but it isn’t the fact that you were sleeping with a bunch of women. Trust me, I was just glad that you were sleeping with adults. No, turns out that you blabbed important information about a guy that was in your confessional. Turns out you can’t keep a secret. Not that I’m worried, I have a feeling my secret is going to go to the grave with you.