The Hit List

Chapter 3

I watched as the bright red liquid in the soup blended with the milk to become a paler shade of salmon as I swirled it around on the heat. I reached into a plastic sleeve with my other hand and brought a dry square to my lips. It quickly stole all the moisture from my mouth, causing me to extend my hand towards a white mug, burning my tongue on the fruity tea. I forced myself to swallow, scalding my throat in the process.

The soup quickly came to a boil, and my hands carried it off the stove. Rehoming it from a pot to a large bowl. A bowl that remained the only clean one, or at least the only clean one that wasn't too tiny to hold the now slightly darker red liquid. I crumbled the plastic sleeve between my hands, some crumbs spilling out of the slight opening onto my stained countertop. I had always enjoyed a poor ratio of crackers to soup, a good 80/20. The crackers turn the liquid into a thick gloop. There was a buzz on my phone and a notification banner appeared on the screen. The sound no longer made me jump. Two weeks had passed since the entire internet event, and after the first one, my neck no longer twisted itself into a knot, looking around every corner.

Erik: Hey Evan, was just thinking about you. Hope you're doing well!

The soup now tasted of metal against my tongue, as I poured it around the dishes into the sink drain. It plopped into the metal bowl, needing to be rinsed down by the water nozzle. I watched it get washed away, acid now eating away at my empty stomach. I dismissed the message with the same care I gave the others. At first, I was concerned that quitting my job out of the blue would point to me planning my demise, but I was confident in my hitman strategy. Not so much now. I'm not sure if the mysterious hacker or the website itself is to blame for my account being fully frozen. The tech support number was missing, not that I would have phoned it anyhow. But when I tried to sign up for several more websites and got the same response, I realized that the individual was still interfering with my plans. Most likely, he gets off on control.

Life was getting harder to live day by day. All of them bled together, finishing in identical manners. Laying in bed, sleep escaping me until early into the morning. Feelings evading me just as similarly.

During the 11th grade, I studied psychology for a semester, during which I gained knowledge about the limbic system. Areas of the brain responsible for producing emotions.

I can still picture myself wondering if it was possible to be born without them as I sat on a cheap, hard plastic school seat. Could it be that I was the only individual missing theirs and that I was the exception? Would I end up a mystery to medicine? Discussed on a low-budget afternoon program.

If anything I had lost mine along the way. Or they malfunctioned and crapped out on the side of some dirt road like a cheap car bought off of Craigslist. I could remember being happy once upon a time. 

The feeling was faded, almost as though it were a polaroid sitting out in the sun, but the memories were there. A little girl standing in her driveway. A ladybug rainjacket, matching umbrella, and boots. A smile showing off every tooth she had yet to lose. Her hair was cut in a short bob. Not quite a bowl-cut, but close. The world hadn't gotten to her yet. All she knew was cartoons and sugary cereal.

I could not, however, get rid of the persistent feeling that, somewhere along the way, I had lost not just my innocence but also a part of myself that I worried may never be regained, even as I clutched to these memories like a lifeline.

I miss her.