The Order

01

In my experience, people usually do one of four things when they're about to die.

Cry, grovel, and beg for their lives to be spared.

I usually see this in politicians, pimps, and petty criminals. These are the type of people who think that just because they're rich, they're untouchable. They'll usually try to bribe you, and it's amazing to see what people will give up for their pathetic lives to be spared. Money, mansions, hell, I even got offered someone's daughter once. They'd give up anything in order to avoid their untimely demise.

2. Spew out vulgar insults.

Mafia Dons, Cartel leaders, and any other hot-tempered asshole with a God complex usually resort to this. Even in the face of death, they refuse to acknowledge that they lost. I never quite understood the logic of insulting the person who's holding a gun against your temple, but to each their own.

3. Become emotionless and accept their fate.

This reaction always intrigues me. If anything, I respect them a bit more seeing how they so gracefully welcome their death with open arms. But this usually only happens with trained killers, assassins, any one who has become physically numb to their own existence.

4. Shit themselves.

Yeah, unfortunately for me, that's a thing.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been twenty-six years since my last confession." I said as I crossed my legs. The booth was dim, and the only light came from underneath the crack of the confessional door. The smell of wood filled my senses, and the dark, small area creaked as I adjusted in my seat. To the left of me was a mesh screen, blocking the face of the pastor who sat in the booth next to me.

Churches have always made me uneasy. I wasn't sure if it was the whole "you're damned to hell for your sins" thing, or the vulnerability of confessing everything you've done wrong to a person you've never met while they're hiding behind a screen. Most likely the latter. If I were to share the sins I've committed, I'd probably give that person enough trauma to last a few lifetimes.

"Twenty-six years is quite some time." He said, his raspy voice sounding as if he spent most of his life smoking packs of cigarettes.

"Better late than never." I said as I lifted my chin up.

"Tell me your sins, child. The Lord forgives all of his children." He said plainly.

"I don't know about that one. I've been pretty bad. It's kinda fucked really." I began. I pushed the slit of my dress to the side, revealing the holster wrapped around my thigh. I quickly and quietly grabbed my Glock, gracefully sliding it out of its holster. The sleek metal shined slightly as a glimmer of light reflected off of it. I usually hated dresses, they were impractical, hard to kill in. But I needed to look unassuming, innocent, and most importantly, I needed to get my favorite Glock into a church undetected.

"What sins have you committed?" He asked patiently.

What sins haven't I committed would have been the better question.

"Well for starters, I've killed eighteen people this month." I said as I pressed my thumb against the silencer attached to the tip of my gun.

"This month?" The pastor said as he looked down for a moment. "It's only the seventh..." He said under his breath in disbelief.

"Yeah." I said nonchalantly as I shrugged slightly before exhaling. "It's been a very slow month."

Silence stretched between us as a faint smile stretched across my lips in amusement.