So I watched everyone.
The first few days the paranoia was crippling. I stayed home, too afraid of the outside world to even leave my own bedroom. Hell, I barely even trusted myself not to get killed walking from my bed to the master bathroom to relieve myself. But I wanted to die, why all of a sudden was I trying to find ways to avoid this? Like I said, none of this is reasonable. But that did not provide any reason for me to go out into the world and let it happen.
What eventually forced me to go outside again was a lack of food. I never was the type to have a stockpile of groceries in the house at all times, so I had to get food somehow after three days of hiding.
I decided against trying to live off delivery food for as long as possible because I felt that I'd have absolutely no chance of survival when I was left face-to-face with the delivery man at the door. Now had you talked to me three days earlier any situation with no chance of survival would've sounded ideal. But somehow now I needed a way out of this.
But I was stuck, I needed food. So I dressed as inconspicuously as I possibly could, trying to look like any generic twenty-something male in Boston, and I went out to get groceries.
I've spent the last half hour trying to find a way to explain to you how I felt on that first trip out of the house. I can't seem to force my brain to formulate any sentences that really do justice to my feelings over those couple of hours. I felt like my head was a pinball pinging back-and-forth from one person to the next. Every pedestrian, every motorist on the way there was a suspect in my mind. I could trust no one. How I managed to drive without crashing I have no idea, because I don't remember looking at the road. But I remember their faces, all of them. The strength of my conviction that each individual I encountered was my murderer seared their faces in my memory forever.
Of course this only got worse at the store itself, because now I had to leave my car and enter a public building with God-knows how many suspects. Some of the people in that store even looked suspect, which was the last thing I needed. Any slight twitch in the man picking out tomatoes, the smallest glance in my direction from the people working the deli, and I was convinced the next move would be for my life.
I was barely a functioning human being. Yet somehow I was able to pick out my food, and even grabbed mostly reasonable things that could actually be used to make a meal. Although I did for some reason purchase prune juice...
So aside from a moment in time where my delusions turned me into a ninety-year-old, I had actually done well. Now all I needed to do was load the groceries in my car, and drive home. Simple, right?
As much as I really want to get to the exciting part of this story faster, I'm not an author by trade and I can't seem to get there yet. Because it was in fact quite simple. There was no hollywood moment where the idiot in the horror movie thinks he's made it only to get his throat slit by the mad man hiding in the back seat. No, none of that. Just a very simple use of the provided storage space in the trunk, the key to ignite the fuel, which allowed the car to provide transportation for me and my sustenance all the way home.
Maybe three days just isn't enough time for word spread. Maybe word had gotten out of the prison, but no one had been able to locate me yet. After all school was on break, so I wasn't visiting any of my normal haunts.
Patience was never a strength of mine, and trying to be patient when you're waiting for the chance to foil your own contract kill is ridiculous. To say the very least, my patience was nonexistent. I'm fairly certain I had so little patience that I must have expected to have been murdered two days before putting out the contract.
But alas, this method of assisted suicide was apparently far less efficient others.
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