It was just a matter of time, really.
The spy is dead. The killer knows his targets. The list of suspects outweighs the list of the innocent, and the latter is dwindling fast. I've tried my best to fight the panic as the stitches that hold everything together slowly start to rip. I've tried to prepare myself for what I knew was coming. The mental preparation and the meditation first. It's a lot easier that way, instead of first calling my family for, what I expect to be, the last time. I've righted my wrongs. I've forgiven petty grudges. It's taken a while, but things are better. I'm happier with my lot in life, with myself. My affairs are in order. Things are finally right.
But let me tell you... there are things you just can't prepare for. You can't prepare for that feeling when your stomach drops about ten stories and takes that euphoric high you've been riding on with it. You can't put right everything in your life and not feel regret when you go to your tiny, quiet home. When there's already someone waiting for you when you walk through that door.
You can try your hardest, but all you've done will go straight to hell when that figure smoothly raises their arm and aims down the sights. You won't even notice them pull the trigger. You'll be too preoccupied trying to figure out whether or not to cry. Whether or not to scream. Whether or not you should quickly practice those lessons on detachment one more time. Right before the bullet pierces your skull, you'll realize it, just like I did. If you're still listening to the final thoughts of a dead man, congratulations, I'm finally at the point. Inner peace is a lie. You can't be happy and not feel sadness, or rage, or contempt. Especially when that happiness is suddenly taken away. You may not believe me now, but one day you will. Everyone will.
It's just a matter of time, really.