This is my life.  It has no rhyme or reason anymore, in fact I can’t remember a time that it ever actually had a reason.  I don’t think it ever did.  I know, I have a depressing outlook on life.  But how could I seriously think anything else? My life sucks.

            I’ve been hopped up on anti-depressants and anti-anxiety drugs for as long as I can remember.  I can’t sit still, I just feel like there should be more out there.  More of what? Your guess is as good as mine.  There just has to be something else out there.  Something more than quarterly bills and finance proposals.

            I’ve googled myself, several times.  Nothing. No results whatsoever.  It’s hard to imagine being so insignificant that no one else in the world even shares your names.  Complete ambiguity is not the wonderful seclusion many poets and artists deem it to be.  To have recognition as a somebody, to at least make the smallest of dents in the world with something I’ve done… that’s all I want.  To make a difference, to be someone, not just another number in corporate America, not just another sheep following the crowds.

            This is almost constantly my train of thought.  And this is what I’m thinking as I stand at the counter of the pharmacist’s, paying for my best friend’s energy drink and condoms.  Wes had conveniently “forgotten” his wallet yet again.  As Wes answered his phone, I handed over my money to the cashier.  He was old and grey, and looked about as fed up with life as I felt.

            Suddenly, there is a voice beside me. “I knew your father.” The voice was soft and rang out beautifully.  As I turned, I saw that the man’s face more than matched his exquisite voice.  He was truly beautiful.  And that’s saying something.  Never before have I classed a man as “beautiful”, hot maybe, but never beautiful.  I may be gay, but “beautiful” is a word I have only ever used when describing a very good-looking woman, or when my sister got married.  But this man, he was the very definition of the word itself.

            “How did you know my father?”

            “I used to work with him.  He taught me everything I know.” He paused for a moment, “He was the greatest assassin who ever lived-“

            “My father was an accounta-“

            “-and the man who killed him is standing right over there” He gestured over my right shoulder, and I turned to see a sharply dressed, well-groomed man in a grey trenchcoat ducking behind the shampoo display.

“Wha-“ before I could get my question out, Beautiful – as I’d taken to calling him in my head – dragged me behind a display and pulled out a large hand gun, shooting at the other man.  I covered my ears as the gunmen exchanged fire, trying in vain to block out the deafening noise.

            Then, I felt a sudden, sharp impact below my shoulder.  I felt a warmth spreading down my chest.  I looked down and saw red, then everything went black.