The Last Mission
It’s eleven at night and I am half past drunk enough to care. Sitting here looking out into the city that deflates my view of humanity and I am paralyzed with fear. I do not know what the future holds but I believe it to be bleak. Am I afraid of death or is it the inconsequential nature of my existence? People laughing, loving, crying, screaming all at once, and for the rest of our lives, we will remain unknown to each other. Life, it seems, is unaware of the past and present, and sure as hell doesn’t care about the future.
The thoughts of the last mission are still there. It was supposed to be a normal drop. How did the Russians find us? It doesn’t matter… there was only supposed to be two of us and no one else knew. Fuck, that briefcase is something that will make your blood run cold and they control it.
Oh well… It’s only a matter of time now until I end up with a hood over my head, hung out to dry; just a frayed end of rope that is ready to be excised. My history will be erased and some new recruit will take my place, and I am ready to end this now. I sit here before you, surrounded by clues to my former self, only wishing to reach the bottom of this bottle. Would you be so kind to join me?
My only requests: please make it quick and tell my partner I…