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Of course. All we adults know just how complicated and hard it is to have a job. Almost every job is like that except school where your "bosses" pity you a little. Well maybe because that's the job of your "boss". But welcome to reality is what all adults would like to tell you one day.
One day you will find yourself hurled out the door, and rubbing your butt. It's that painful to grow out of your home.
But hey! No one ever said you would die! I survived, and all my workmates survived. As long as you get a job, a home, and food, all is good.
All I made this letter for is to acknowledge my job. Thank you job. Thank you so much.
I remember when I first stumbled upon the steps of your headquarter building. Other than some eye piercing statues, it was an ordinary brick building that I had thought nothing of until I saw my friend Brady go inside. I can reminisce sneaking inside and perusing the insides. Oak stairs, velvet carpet, oakwood flooring, and a nice huge lantern that lit up the hallway which was painted a slightly dark yellow.
I creeped up behind Brady who was standing there praying to some "god". Then he spun around on the ball of his heel and smiled looking directly at me.
I didn't answer right away. I got caught doing something that I shouldn't have been doing.
"What're you doing here?"
I straightened my hair. "Eh, nothing. One of my papers fell into this building and I was getting it."
Brady stared at me. After a long moment of silence he smiled.
"Did you get your paper?"
"Er.. um.. yes. I did."
"Well then, have a good day!"
He lead me to the dark oak door and pushed me outside. He slammed the door shut behind me leaving me sprawled on the sidewalk.
About then was when the murders started happening. My neighborhood was usually serene with birds, trees, nice traditional houses, and old people. Like who would want to murder any old people anyway? Besides, these people aren't just old, they're ancient. Giorgio Tsoukalos might even call them aliens.
But anyway, the first murder happened in the house across the street. The guy who lived there was at least 95 years old, around 5 foot 8, and wore round golden glasses. We rarely met, but I thought of him as a nice guy.
According to the police, they found his body, along with a puddle of blood, in the basement. However, the head was missing. No matter where they searched, there was no trace of the head.
That day when I found out about the murder, I overheard a group of old ladies whispering to each other.
"....Mr. Goodman, dead...."
".....I have grandchildren..."
"....Don't want to turn them down...."
Although I was supposed to feel scared too, I felt strangely happy. As if a fly had been swatted. As if there were no more worries.
As I came home from Carter's Groceries, I once again passed the brick building I had snuck into just a few days ago. It had an eerie smell like rotting flesh. How it got so strong, I'll never know. But all I can say is, I felt like vomiting. Maybe I did. I just couldn't stand the smell anymore and I blacked out on the sidewalk.
When I woke up, I was in a concrete chamber. I was laying in some sort of military bunker with corroded metal railings. The ceiling was a blinding white color that made me squeeze my eyes shut. Since I didn't have my glasses on, everything seemed fuzzy. I could make out a sillhouette of some bulk guy standing in front of the door.
"Rise and shine! NOW GET UP!", he barked.
I lazily got up and stumbled toward him. He shoved me into a bright hallway, lit by eerie looking glass balls of light that made buzzing noises. The guard shoved me forward until we reached another doorway. This doorway had a doorbell that the guard reached out for before opening the door up.
"Sir, he's awake. But this kind of puny guy? Are you sure it's really him?"
"Just let him in. Off with you!", responded a speaker somewhere near the doorbell button.
The guard mumbled Ok, before he shoved me into the door. The impact was so great that my nose started bleeding. He sneered as he walked away. "Oops, Sooorrryyy..." I rubbed my nose as I slid the door open.
Inside the room was a few desks, but at the very center was a huge dark desk with a whole bunch of books on it. Sitting behind it was a balding old man around 60. He stood up and welcomed me with his grey benevolent eyes.
"Welcome my friend! I hear you are the Matthew Herbert!"
"Sit down sir, I need to chat with you!"
I sat down next to him in a leather sofa. In front of me was an elegant glass coffee table that reflected the light as if it were a mirror. He sat down in the chair across from me.
"Mr. Herbert, I've been waiting to speak to you all along!" he excaimed with the happiest face I had ever seen. "I can't believe I'm actually talking to you! The Matthew Herbert! THE MATTHEW HERBERT!!!!!!"
"Can I say how exciting it is to meet you in person? Oh my gosh, you're the One and Only MATTHEW HERBERT!"
"Uh, why do you keep on calling me 'The Matthew Herbert'?"
"Eh? Do you have some form of memory loss?"
"Then... Well I guess I'll just tell you then. You murdered 27 people in your neighborhood without getting caught. Do you remember now?"
"Huh? I did?"
The guy's face turned into a frown.
"You... don't remember?"
The guy started thinking. From the look of his face, I could tell that he was thinking very deeply. At last, he looked up.
"I was thinking of hiring you. You know. We kill people. We eat their heads."
After explaining to me on how the process worked, since I was a little sleepy, I agreed to work with him without thinking much.
So I got hired. And I got work.
But horrible things happen to people who become friends with me. Recently, I had become friends with a person named Mystreve, so I'm feeling a bit bad for that person right now. Because everyone around me ends up into a headless body. I don't get why.
It's not because of me! It's not my house! It's not my job! Really! Believe me please! Mystreve, just be careful. I beg you.