I first discovered that Irene sometimes left her front door unlocked some years ago when I’d go over and occasionally try the knob before knocking. Living in a such a diverse, large, frenzied city such as L.A. – where thousands of people routinely have their dreams crushed when not making the cut for the next big reality TV show – I sometimes worried for her and her over-trusting nature. One day, I found the door unlocked and stealthily let myself in. Upon entering, I could see her directly in front of me, sitting on the couch reading a book. She was so absorbed into it, that she hadn’t noticed my entrance at all – which is exactly what I was worried about. I stood completely motionless. It was quiet in her apartment, eerily still. I could even hear the ticking of the second hand making its determined way around the clock. It was perfect timing. I clasped my hands together, bent my elbows and pointed my index fingers up in the shape of a makeshift 9mm. With a wide stance, I cocked my gun and pulled the trigger. “Bang! Bang!” I yelled. And then, after recovering from the recoil, “Oh my gosh! I could have killed y—“ “I knew you were going to do that!” she cut in, whipped around and smiled with twinkling eyes.
The Worst Assassin
Last modified: January 10, 2019