A/N: Written for the Review Game's August WCC.


That's really the question of all questions. Where, how, and why are all important, but nonesomuch as who.

Who would want to kill you? That punk on the street you told off for trying to steal that old lady's purse? He could steal his daddy's gun and bang your life is over. Or maybe that woman on the bus who asked you were you came from and where you were headed, just trying to be nice, but you were so lost in thought you ignored her? She might have a mobster boyfriend, or maybe she was a government agent trying to get information out of you.

So many possibilities, so little time to analyze all of them.

You know someone wants to kill you, you've known that your whole life. Someone's always watching, some hunter is poised and ready to end you with nothing more than a goodbye.

Where is also important.

You want to die someplace nice, someplace with lots of sunlight and fresh air. Out in the countryside or on a beach, not in a cramped, polluted city where no one would even spare a second glance for you.

They might think you were some homeless asshole, and by the look of you that wouldn't be so farfetched. Your sneakers are always worn out because you can't afford another pair of really good ones and you need to be able to run like hell, and your warm jacket has holes because even though you can afford another one, that particular one has always been lucky for you. So why would they think you were a dead martyr when you dress like you do?

How is another very good question.

You want it to happen quickly. You've thought about it quite a bit and decided that less suffering is better. On the other hand you want last words, good last words, and a quick death would leave no time. But no one cares about a highschool dropout's last words. No one cares if they want a 'great perhaps' or if they want to leave a labyrinth. Besides, you wouldn't be able to think of anything like that. You would just think of the last line of that song about last words, and 'nothing you can say would stop me going home' is alright but not the poignant, metaphorical, and memorable end you want.

You want to end with a bang. A quick bang. A gun, but maybe a new type of technology. Something different, something distinguishable from all the car crashes, drunk drivers and suicides. A bang, not a whimper. A flame, not a small spark that never ignites.

You want to be special, and that's really the thing. Death is inevitable, it always is, but you could be something new. You want to be remembered, you want people to look back and say 'oh I remember all the good times I had with him'.

And if you can't go out with a bang, maybe a sonic whoosh would suffice.

And why? That's the killer, isn't it (if you'll excuse my joke)?

Why would someone be after you, you of all people?

You can't remember a time you didn't feel like someone wanted to kill you. That has been a fact of your life, and you've only been able to ignore it when wasted in some form or another. Being wasted has been another fact of your existence, but that's another story.

Maybe you were marked from birth. Maybe some sick person made a list of all the children born in the same month or week or day as you and threw a dart at it. And when it hit your name they said 'he's the one'.

But why hadn't they struck? You've been so vulnerable all this time. Spent too much time in your mama's basement playing video games and you can't run worth shit, spent too much time online and can't talk your way out of a paper bag, spent too much time drunk and staggering to learn how to defend yourself.

So now you're screwed.

You've tried to pick up karate and track in the last week, but it's too little too late.

The paranoia's struck back up again, worse than ever before. Every little thing you do cripples you with fear, sending shivers up your chest and through your spine.

You're fucking terrified, and that's the long and short of it.

You don't want to die. You have a pointless existence, but you don't want to die. You don't want to know what comes next. You don't want any of this, any of this life that's been chosen for you.

You just want to find a girlfriend and run away with her, living somewhere very far away from this cramped city that's been all you've known.

But you're complicated. She would never go for it.

So you've resigned yourself to it.

You're going to die, and it's going to be soon.

All you want, all you ask of this unknown person that will be your killer is that they say they're sorry.

A/N: Please review!