15 for 15 Entries

June 14: Gun

"Opheliacs Incorporated, how may I help you?" The softly professional voice soothed my panic. I took a deep breath, tucking the sweaty ends of my hair behind my ears. I could do this.

"I would like to schedule an...appointment," I hedged.

"Of course, ma'am," the receptionist said, still bland. "How did you find out about Opheliacs, Inc? A referral, a professional recommendation?"

"An ad on the Internet," I whispered. "On one of those...forums. You know."

"Quite right," the woman said. "When would you like the appointment? I would like to remind you at this time that there are no refunds, and cancellations must be made at least two days in advance. If you would like to pick an exotic method, at least a week's advance notice is required for cancellation."

"I understand," I assured her. "I've...I've thought about this a lot. And well, as soon as possible would be great."

She took down my information, my method of choice (not guaranteed), and my method of payment. My appointment was scheduled for the following afternoon.

I'd been waiting for this moment a long time, I thought as I paced up and down the length of my shoddy apartment. I'd tried all the things. Medication. Counseling. Even a brief stint of electroshock therapy. Nothing had helped.

My life wasn't as bad as it could have been, I could freely admit that. But it didn't matter. I still knew that I was doing the right thing. I'd put all my affairs in order. Written out the exact details of what I wanted to happen afterward. This would be a relief.

Still, I had a hard time sleeping that night. The alarm clock on the bedside table read 3 a.m. before I finally managed to drift into an uneasy sleep.

I called in to work that day. After all, what was the point of slogging away at a pointless desk job on a day like this? I took a bath. Dressed in some of my nicer clothes. I didn't want to look frumpy after all. I didn't know who was coming, but I had specified a man. Closest I would get to one in the last three years.

Finally, at two p.m. sharp, the doorbell rang. Aflutter with nerves, I opened the door and came face to face with a man casually pointing a gun in my face.

"Hello," he smiled. "I'm here for your appointment."