Mess

The world is a messy place. It's terrible. Why can't it be so much simpler? Like it used to be. Back in the days where you didn't have to worry about walking out your front door. When you didn't have to be trained to shoot a gun to feel secure. In those days, we could go to school without being attacked. We could go to work. We could live in a world whose primary concern was global warming. Yeah right. I suppose I was young then. That probably added to my feeling of security. The innocence of youth. Those days are over.

Now I'll check my peephole before I walk out onto my porch. I'll ensure the steel plates are bolted securely to the windows. I'll cautiously step into the winter cold, gripping tightly my M16A4 with 3-16x50mm adjustable scope attachment and M203 grenade launcher undercarriage and scan the streets. I'll slink along the middle of the street to avoid being ambushed, making my way to the office building 3 blocks down and 2 to the right. The process takes a little over 20 minutes; in the old days, it would have taken 6. I make it safely and without incident and as I climb the stairs to the third floor, I lower my guard. I cross the hallway, greeting my co-workers cheerily. I stop cold several feet from my office door and glance at the secretary. "Hey Sheila," I half whisper, and Sheila looks up from her lunch, blood smearing her teeth. I raise my rifle and fire a single 5.56x45mm round through Sheila's forehead.