If they had one of those anonymous rehabilitation programs for folks like me, my introduction would be, “Hi, I’m Shira, and I kill people.” Except rehab suggests killing people bothers me. It doesn’t.
Neither am I particularly committed to anything other than not being caught. That sounded a shred on the hard-hearted side. I’m not. I’m a lot like you. I get up every morning, clean myself up, and check my phone to see what I have cooking.
Everyone has a job. Mine happens to be ridding the world of people who shouldn’t be here. Not that I’m making those decisions. People hire me, and I trust they’ve done their homework.
I’ve always been…different, never had a close circle of friends or even associates. Once I discovered I could do unusual things, I kept to myself. Those rare skills make me a perfect choice because I kill from a distance and leave no evidence. What I do is lucrative. I’m pretty much set even for my rather long lifetime.
In theory, I could quit anytime.
I say that after every job. That I should walk away, except I don’t. Tell you what. Don’t judge me, and I might spare you if your number comes up on my dance card. Deal?
I'm basically a mountaineer at heart. I remember many hours at my desk where my body may have been stuck inside four walls, but my soul was planning yet one more trip to the backcountry. There's a timeless element to the mountains. They feel like old friends as I visit them, and visit them again. There's nothing like standing on a remote pass where I've been before and seeing that the vista is unchanged. Or on an equally remote peak. Mountains are the bones of the world. They'll prevail long after all of us are dust. It feels honest and humbling to share space with them. I hope I'm blessed with many more years to wander the local landscape. The memories are incomparable. They warm me and help me believe there will be something left for our children and their children after them.