Write One Page Per Day – 265/365 – September 22, 2018

Rooftop Revelations


Gwen paced on the other side of the building while Grace and I sat on the edge of the roof letting our legs dangle out as the wind gently rolled past. The breeze carried a chill with it that made Grace pull her sweater in tighter around her.

“What do you want?” I asked, lighting a cigarette.

“I just want a nice, easy life. What’s wrong with that?” she replied looking down at the people on the sidewalk.

“A lot,” I said, shaking my head, “an ignorant life is for those little people down there. We aren’t those people and to be totally honest, I wouldn’t want to be. They are oblivious to the problems we deal with and the reality of the world they live in.

“They spend their lives working hard for the money they borrowed so they can pay it back with interest. They’ve been convinced that borrowing money is the path to a comfortable life while they work in offices and live in the suburbs. The entire system is rigged against them, and on some level, they know it, but they choose to be miserable.”

“I thought you were crazy,” Grace said, her eyes still searching the crowd, “that’s what everyone told me anyway. But you don’t seem crazy to me…”

“I’m bat-shit crazy,” I replied with a smile. “I wear that badge with a very high level of pride. I’m crazy because I see the system for what it is, not what they want us to see, and I broke out of it. I stepped away, and now I enjoy every minute of my work changing the world.”

“What do you do for money? Isn’t it bad to kill?”

“Of course we need it. The world runs on money. What we do is take what we need and live by our own laws. We kill people, sure, but we do it quickly, for the most part anyway. It’s those assholes getting rich doing nothing while all the little cogs that are ‘normal people’ do all the work that is truly evil.” I said, pausing for a moment, “I once went into an insurance company after a target. You know, on their walls there were plaques for top performance. ‘555 Million Dollars in Actuary Profits.’ Do you know what that means?”

Grace shook her head.

“That means that a group of people working in an office barely making it made some dick-head, or a group of dick-heads, over half of a billion dollars. That’s the real crime. Sure I killed the guy in his office and left him there for the cleaner to find, but that guy’s boss is the real monster…”

It was a few minutes before Grace said anything. I knew she was processing everything still.

“Could we redistribute the money we make?” she asked.

“I never take more than I need, so I don’t see why not,” I smiled.

“I’m in,” she said smiling down at the people on the street.


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