“Sorry, Al. Y’know how the economy is.’N now that the government is tryin’a cut our budget, we gotta do something.”

Alfred’s most recent employer delivered those parting words with practiced ease. He could never take the large, Texan man seriously, thanks to that ridiculously thick accent and permanent politician’s smile plastered on his face.

So annoying.

The man’s attempt to sound more sincere than normal made just that much more irritating.

“So, y’see, we thought we could do you a favour. Already got all yer stuff in a box on yer desk. All y’have t’do is pick it up.”


Alfred supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. From the day he graduated, he had lost every single job he managed to scrounge up.  He wasn’t bad at them, per se. He just… wasn’t interested.

Sighing, he lumbered out of his boss’ office, He eyed his desk. A single cardboard box was waiting for him–his name hastily scribbled on the side.

He ignored it.

Alfred pushed open the door to his deteriorating house. 34, broke, and out of a job once again, he thought. Looks like I’m on the road to success!

He kicked his shoes off and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He plopped down on his dirty armchair and took a sip.

He didn’t understand; understand why he couldn’t keep a job. No, that was a lie. He knew why.

Eventually, his jobs became boring. And when they became boring, he didn’t want to work. And because he didn’t want to work, he simply didn’t.

Really, he just needed a job that would continue to satiate his boredom.

After careful contemplation, Alfred came to a conclusion. He would become his own employer—a (not-so-)young entrepreneur! He wouldn’t fail like the hundreds of others who tried starting up their own businesses, no. Good ol’ Al was confident he’d succeed.

He was walking back to the core of the city, where his now old workplace was. This was his first job; his first task.

He glanced at his watch. 7:49PM. It was almost time.

He saw his mark leave the building. The large Texan lumbered over to his car, fumbling with the keys.

See, during university, Alfred got so bored of classes and school that he tried something new. And he liked it. First, the hunt. Then, closing in on the prey. And finally, the kill.


He would take something from the victim—a trophy of some sort. This time, he’d just take the guy’s wallet. He needed to get paid somehow!

Alfred took aim with his pistol.

And then the click of a revolver echoed behind him.

His former boss had disappeared.

Oh. Oh no.

“Y’know, I n’er thought ya woulda made it this easy, Al. We artists think the same, I s’ppose. I was plann’na drive over to yer house ‘n all, but ya came here ‘n saved me some gas money. Guess I oughtta thank ya for that.

So thanks, Al. Thanks, and goodbye.

See ya in the afterlife.”