WARNING: THIS EPISODE CONTAINS SUICIDAL CONTENT AND CURSING

   I take a sip from the bitter liquid, but I don’t mind it. Black tea. My favorite. Matches my mood and soul color, though many think I’m neon. That’s only because I put up an act. An act in which I’m kind and helpful, along with perky. I’m not. I am dark and gloomy. I am mad and sad with myself. Most of all, I’m ready to end it all. You may think that I’m insane, and strange because I’ve just said I have a favorite, but the truth is- that doesn’t matter. I remember a time where everything was- nothing. It was peaceful yet eerie. Eerie at first, peaceful after I got used to it. This was in the beginning. And I’m ready to go back. I know I won’t go anywhere like Heaven or Nirvana, no no. I’m going there, to the Void as I fondly call it, because I believe in nothing. Nothing matters, and nobody is making life better.

But how rude am I. Before I go, I must explain who I am. I am Myra Turner. My hair is medium length and black, and I have rare dark purple eyes. Some call me rare. Some call me pretty. Hell, some even call me hot. But I don’t agree. I am simply simple, no matter what anybody says.

I abruptly stand up, pushing away the wooden chair, then pushing it back in, staring wistfully at the dark red cushion on it. I’d miss that, but not so much. I could live without it. Snapping myself out of it, I grab my brown-leather satchel and the empty ceramic teacup-like-mug that held my coffee, and headed up to the front counter. The man there took the mug, then set it to the side on a tray of dirty dishes. I pulled out my wallet then pulled out a dark-rain patterned credit card.

“100,000 dollars. This I’ll miss also. But not so much.” I thought.

Handing the card to the man, I watched as he swiped the card, taking in all of his features: a broad head with a chiseled chin, dark brown stubble to match his dark brown swept hair, which complimented his bright blue eyes. I took back my card, placed it back in my wallet, then left Sterling Cafe, my hands in the pockets of my dark night-blue hoodie. Pulling up the hood once I was out, I looked at my feet, which were covered by black and white vans. I noticed my black jeans and chuckled. If only my friends saw me now, in the clothes they thought I dreaded but actually loved. There was a vibration and I pulled out my black night-scape phone out of my back pocket, then opened up text.

Lucy: Hey Myra! Where you at? You wanna hang out?

I chuckle to myself as I reply:

Myra: Sorry. I can’t hang out. Tell the others.

Lucy: :( What should I tell them? What’re you doing?

Myra: Tell them I’m going.

Lucy: GOING?! Going where?! Out of state? Out of country? WHERE?!

Myra: Out into the black abyss. Out into the Void. Out into the land called DEATH.

I turned off my phone and grinned. I loved causing panic. And this, this was key. Aha! There! That’s the perfect place to go to! An alleyway, not too far away. I turned the corner into the dark place. The stench of trash seeped into the air. Wrinkling my nose, I reached into my satchel and pulled out ‘Citrus Breeze’ scented perfume, something I never use, and sprayed it all around me. I took in a huge breath and sighed.

“Perfect.” I thought.

Putting the fragile glass container back, I got on my knees and sat on my feet. Reaching yet again into my satchel, I gripped a silver swirled handle with  emerald teardrops embroidered on it, and pulled it out. Attached to the handle was a silver blade. Clutching it with both hands and facing it towards me, there was a vibration. Giving off a sigh of annoyance, I looked:

Lucy: Skylar tracked your phone! We’re coming, don’t go through with it!

Oh Skylar, Lucy’s boyfriend, a coder, and a hacker. Ever so helpful in this situation.

Lucy: We’re coming to Gobo Rd., don’t do anything yet!

By “we” she means the group, which is also my friends. Quickly typing in, Too late, as soon as it sends I smash it, loosing all ways of anyone to possibly track me. What a waste too, it was such a great phone. But anyways, I have much more important business to attend to. Such as the fact that now the dagger is back in my hands, pointing straight for my gut. There’s a rustling on the wind, and I’m nervous someone is watching, but I go through with it. The silver-bladed dagger pierces through my skin, and pain shrieks through me as I hold firm my hands and my jaw. Then, blood. Blood pours out from the cut as I yank out the blade. I see the red-tinted edge as my vision blurs, my body becoming weak and what seems to be a molasses like tug pulling out my breath. But just as my vision fades into that peaceful black darkness, with blurs back to normal. Someone in a hood is standing over me, holding a wet cloth to the cut. I go to remark something but blood bubbles from my lips. Good.

“Shut up.” The hooded man growls. “Stop your death.”

I managed to croak, “Why?”

The man looks at me directly, his features shaded but his eyes a dark mysterious blue.

“Because if you do I’ll give you the best job ever.”

I snorted. What a waste! Why should I save my worthless breath for that. But I’m out. I think I’m dead for a few moments until I realize I’m breathing. But I’m not fully certain.

                                                                                         ***

   Bleary light fills my gaze, and nothing else. It’s not sunlight, but a lightbulb, but it’s light so that means-

“Dammit.” I’m alive.

“Ah, good! You’re alive!”

My vision clears and I see a man. A tall man with broad shoulders, a broad face with a chiseled chin and- is this the man from Sterling Cafe?! No no, this man has those mysterious blue eyes from before- no. One of bright blue and one of the night scape.

“Hetrochromia.” I state. He chuckles.

“Yes yes, I do have it. Not so bad if you think about it, though nobody seems to notice it. Only sees one color, you know? It’s strange.”

“You from Italy?” I ask, as such I noticed his accent. He chuckles again.

“Not directly, but yes. I am Italian.”

“Do Italians normally save people like me?” He chuckles again. Gosh I hate that.

“No, not that know of.”

“So why me?”

“Let me start things off like this. I am Mr. Hirondo-”

“That’s from the Philippines thought?”

“Ah, yes, but remember I am not fully Italian. My family started in the Philippines than move to Italy. Now, I am Mr. Hirdondo, and I run a secret company called Those Inc., alright? Those Inc.’s workers are those who care little for their lives, so they are perfect for the task of what will be told. The workers must succeed their jobs in order to be able to kill themselves whenever they please. If they do not- they are forced to live forever.”

I shuddered. “So what is the job that I must be doing for the rest of my small life?” I asked.

“Every week, you must kill someone. Any one, just someone. Or someones, depending on what you choose. But here’s another catch, you cannot kill yourself until after you kill. So, Miss. Myra Turner, will you become a Taker and keep feeding you bloodlust?”