I think I am hilarious when, in all reality, it wasn't even funny. When I am nervous, I use humor to calmmyself down. I saw a shrink on and off throughout my later teens when I was having some difficulty dealing with my mother and life in general. I asked her why I would laugh and joke at inappropriate times, such as a wake.
People must have thought I was off my rocker when I burst into a fit of giggles at a relative’s eulogy. I felt less like a freak once she told me why I displayed this behavior. It was a coping mechanism I used to deal with stress.
When I am incredibly nervous, I can't stop with the comebacks. No matter how dire the situation is, my wit seems to kick into high gear. I churn out smart-ass responses in quick succession. I don't always use this tactic, but I do it most of the time. It's just how I deal with stress.
If I amreallypissed off, I have one hell of a hard time keeping my big mouth shut. I am very independent and can be a smart-ass when someone annoys me. I can't help it.
I guess this is just the way our Lord and Savior made me. Hopefully, the psycho won't bother me anymore, and I can get back to my life without being so paranoid.
I rub the middle of my nose, sucking in a small breath. I am tired, and my body is sticky because of the summer heat. Sweat is dripping underneath my boobs.
I need a shower like yesterday. It's time to get comfy and watch a flick. It's Monday night, and I'm just going to relax. I dance my way to the shower, feeling excited about two things. Number one- I am going to watch The Burning Bed tonight. It's an older movie dealing with domestic violence.
I know the movie will piss me off because of its sensitive content, but bring it! Any man who beats a woman in my book, is a coward. I'm not even sure why I want to watch it, given my situation, but I am looking forward to screaming at my television to blow off some steam when the violent parts dance across the screen.
I am a huge fan of true crime and documentaries. I always find the backstory interesting. I love to know what makes people tick. Maybe it will help my skittish nerves when I release all the pent-up frustration I've been holding on to these past few months.
Number 2- My Dark Knight hasn't bugged me or knocked anyone out in the last three weeks. I pray he's tired of me and disappears from my life. I can't predict the future, but I know that my gun just became my new best friend.
Atlas
I laid low and left my pet alone for a few weeks. I was creeping her out, and I understood why she was on edge. Even I must admit it's fucked up what I am doing, but I honestly can't stop myself.
I have been watching her for three months, and maybe it wasn't a good idea to text her here and there, then kick the shit out of the assholes who were treating her like garbage.
I won’t deal with anyone disrespecting her, and I can't stand seeing her eventalkingto another guy. It drives me crazy with mind-numbing jealousy. I am the only one who has the privilege of speaking with her, and I certainly don't want anyone fucking her!
I don't understand what came over me, but I developed an itch for the girl and needed to scratch it.
I was smitten the first time I ran into her, but my obsession didn't start until I bumped into her the third time. She wouldn't remember those brief encounters because she only met me at the market, and that brief interaction lasted about 4 minutes. The other two times, she was oblivious to my presence. She isn't obsessed like I am, and my dark side wants to punish her for it.
Of course, it’s not her fault that I'm deranged, but I still want to make her pay formyfeelings. Our first encounter was in the frozen food aisle at the supermarket. We both reached into the freezer at the same time.
My large hand brushed against her smaller one, which woke up my limp dick. The bastard jumped to attention, and I had to mentally scold him to calm the fuck down. I had never reacted like that with any other woman before.
Of course, that piqued my interest. I wasn't sure what the hell had happened, but I apologized to the pretty dark-haired girl and insisted she grab her Rocky Road ice cream first.
I may be a creepy stalker right now, and my line of work often involves annihilating people, but I amalwaysa gentleman. Even if I must kill a woman in the line of duty, I try to apologize before pulling the trigger. It's never anything personal; it's just another day in the life of an assassin.
Some people may think I am a massive asshole for killing the gentler sex, and maybe I am, but I'm not talking about killing Betty Crocker homemakers over here.
I am dealing with the lowest scum of society. These femme fatales are ruthless, cold-blooded murderers themselves, with no empathy for others.
Most of them are in the skin and organ trade business. They may look sweet and harmless, but believe me, they are just as brutal as I am.
My moral compass is at zero anyway, so it makes no difference if my target is male or female. I am unbiased when it comes to their genitals. My do-not-kill zones are children and animals, bringing my compass up several notches. I take out many human traffickers. Business is always booming in that industry, so the assignments keep me busy.
I don't get involved in the rescue missions. I am not interested in diving that deep into the job. Let the government and non-profits deal with that part of the operation. I would rather remain invisible. It suits me better.
Taking a life means nothing to me. It's as normal as going to the corner store on a Monday afternoon. I never feel guilty or remorseful when I end a person. To me, it's just a regular job. I blend in like any other regular Joe blow when I am out in society.
Although ruthless and unforgiving, I am charming when I must be. I own a legitimate security company that makes it look like I'm an average citizen working and paying my taxes. The company is under a fake name, compliments of the CIA.
The government, including very violent people in high places, hires me to take out whatever underbelly shit that needs to be dealt with. I never ask questions. I do what I was trained to do…. KILL. It's ironic that my father wanted me to join the Russian army as a kid. The idea repulsed me, but I became employed with the American government instead.
I was a sniper for six years before my bid was up. I trained in the Navy Seals and the Delta Forces. Boot camp was brutal, but I loved it.
That's how I became the lethal killer that I am today. It also helped that I didn't have much of a conscience when I signed up for the job. I had a lot of anger built up and needed an outlet for my violent tendencies.
