I’m in a state of incredible concentration. Each beat comes and goes with fluidity. My hands have gone completely numb from the vibrations. Despite that I slam the drums with the same violence and speed as before.

  My drums sound like an immaculate car crash. Maybe we should rename the band to “10 car pile up.” I grin at the idea, but sigh shortly afterward.

  This is boring.

  Every note is being hit perfectly and the satisfaction that comes from that just isn’t there anymore. There’s just not anything more for me to keep drumming. I think the others would be pretty upset at me leaving though, so I kinda just kept sticking around.

  “Tiffany!” My eyes snap open and I look over at our bass player, Daryl. “You ight Tiff? You kept playin’ after we stopped.”

  “Oh, yeah I’m good. Just got lost in thought for a bit.”

  Our vocalist, Jack, speaks up much to my annoyance “She’s bored. She doesn’t even want to be here right now.”

  “Nuh- uh! I fucking love drumming! I was just concentrating, alright.”

  He sighs “yeah, alright, our studio times up anyway. Let’s just get outta here.” Jack leaves immediately without even helping us pack up.

  “Asshole.” I mumble to myself. “He's just gonna leave after an accusation like that?”

  “Yeah, but he’s our asshole.” Marie pokes me in the side hard enough for it to hurt. “He’s just jealous because people come to hear you play over hearing him sing.”

  I snorted, “You’re just tryin’ to make me feel better.”

  “Yep, but it’s working right?”

  A grin betrays my face, “Maybe.”

  The guitarist pokes me again before turning to start putting her stuff up. Me and Daryl follow suit. As we finish putting our things up, Marie heads out first.

  “Cya, tomorrow Marie.”

  “Buh- by!” She waves and then she’s gone. As I’m about to get the hell out of here next, Daryl stops me.

  “Hey, um, Tiff? Can we talk for a second?”

  I cringe inwardly. Asking someone to talk is the biggest red flag for a serious conversation. Some idea’s pass through my mind of what he wants to talk about.

  Please don’t be a confession. Please don’t be a confession. “Uh, sure.”

  “Um, were you really bored during practice?”

  “Oh thank god.” I say in one relieved breath.

  “What?”

  Oh shit, I said that out loud. “Um no, I wasn’t bored. I was just thinking about stuff. Anyway, cya.” And I quickly abandon him while speed walking out of the studio. I thought he might come after me, but luckily he did not.

  I feel bad about leaving him like that, but I didn’t want to go through a whole conversation about how my passion for drumming is gone. Not right now anyway. I’m gonna have to talk to everyone eventually.

  I sigh again and begin to look around me. The big apple. I didn’t grow up here. I grew up in a suburban hellscape. Where every house is exactly the same as the last, and everyone did the same thing.

  Go to school, get a job, have a family, repeat. It was so boring. There was no adventure.

  So, I moved out as soon as I was 18 and left for New York. And god, this place is a shit hole. I didn’t think that at first. I enjoyed it and it was fun, but then I got bored of it. What I thought was charming became annoying.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I start to walk around aimlessly for a few hour’s just looking around. I stop to marvel at the engineering feet known as an anti-homeless bench. Truly, a work of art. I don’t know how people can be so evil.

  As I turn a corner, someone rams me and I slam into a wall. My head rebounds off the brickwork, but before I could fall over they pin me to the wall. I regain my senses as the initial shock wears off.

  I open my eyes to see a knife hovering in front of my face. His left forearm pressed against my neck.

  “Empty your pockets, or I’ll cut your fucking eye out!”

  Interesting, I’m getting mugged. That’s never happened before. I guess it makes sense. It was getting pretty late.

  “Did you hear what I fuc-”

  I knee him in the crotch and grab the knife from his hand. He stammers backward and I stab him in the throat. I twist the blade and yank it to the left, partially decapitating him. Blood and viscera flows out of him like a fountain. He grabs his neck, eyes wide in shock.

  He reaches out to me and I simply side step out of the way. He hits the brickwork, splattering his gore onto the wall. He slides down the wall and slumps face first on the asphalt. I watch for a moment as blood pools around what's left of his neck.

  He stops moving.

  That was disappointing. It wasn't like the first time I’ve killed someone, but like everything else, murder isn’t really that fun anymore.

  This isn’t good though. I killed this guy out in the open in the middle of the city. If the police aren’t on the way, they will be soon. I really should have beaten this guy up instead of killing him.

  I don’t think I can run from this. My other murders were planned out very carefully, and performed after months of work so they don’t lead back to me. This was too ‘spur of the moment.’

  Oh, wait, I have an idea. I use the knife to create a gash on my cheek and throw the knife on the ground next to the body. I pull out my phone and call 911.

  After a single ring the operator picks up “911, what’s your emergency.”

  I put on my best shaky voice “Um- eh- I- I got attacked and um- oh god!” I start crying “I- I was trying to run, but he attacked me, b- but.”

  “Miss, calm down, tell me what happened.”

  Good, He’s buying it “I- I think I ki- killed him. O- oh no.”

  “Okay miss, can you tell me where you are?”

  I give him my location and wait as the operator tries to console me. I feel a little bad for tricking this man. He seems nice.

  “What’s your name miss?”

  I manage a sniffle “T- Tiffany.”

  “Okay Tiffany, you got someone coming to get you. Just sit tight, alright.”

  “Okay” I let out a deep breath as I pretend attempting to control my emotions. I fail and keep crying.

  This certainly Isn’t ideal. I would prefer my name not be connected to any murder, even in self defense. Fortunately, this guy was trying to mug me, so if he has a criminal record my self defense story will be much more believable.

  Well, it was self defense, but if I don’t sell it my chances of getting convicted of manslaughter go way up. If I get arrested they’ll get my DNA, which will connect me to other crime scenes.

  I just have to pray they take one look at this and say it was self defense and everyone can move on with their lives. I look over at the corpse. Except for that guy.

  I stop myself from laughing at my own joke into the phone.

  Still though, this entire situation is gonna be a royal pain in the ass. I can already see everyone I know trying to console me about killing a guy I don’t care about.

  I dropped the whole serial killer thing before I even got out of high school. It got boring pretty fast. Everyone I’ve killed died the same way, scared. It was also too easy. Both the process of doing it, and getting away with it.

  I feel my phone vibrate against my cheek. Pulling away to look at it I see it was a message from my mom.

  ‘Happy birthday Tiff!!!’ I see the time is just past midnight. Man, I completely forgot my birthday was coming up. I guess that makes me 23 now.

  I refrain from responding because it would seem weird right after I just killed someone. I have a feeling this is gonna be one of the most annoying birthdays ever.

  I wonder. What do I want for my birthday? I don’t think I want anything in particular.

  If I do wish for something, I would wish to not be bored anymore.

  I just noticed that the operator stopped talking a minute ago. “Um, hello? Are you still there?” There is nothing but silence in response. That’s weird. Also, the police should have been here by now. “Huh.”

  I feel the ground I’m sitting on start to tremor slightly. A massive red circle expands from beneath my feet, followed by a pentagram forming. Pitch black hands rise out of the ground and grip onto my body and start pulling me down.

  “What the fuck?!” is all I manage to say before another hand covers my mouth, pulling me further.

  I try to muffle out a cry for help, but the hands grip tighter to the point of crushing me into the ground. The world starts melting away. Like actually melting as stars fill my vision. The stars swirl around me as I feel inertia pull me in every direction.

  I vomit from motion sickness, but the hand is keeping my mouth closed, so I’m forced to swallow it. This happens several times as the stars keep spinning.

  Eventually the stars slow and then they are replaced by a rocky surface. The hands finally let go, letting me vomit my guts out onto the now fading red circle.

  I gain my bearings and look around what seems like a cave of sorts. There are three figures wearing brown robes. The one in the middle starts walking to me. His face is covered by some mask.

  The man tilts his head “You’re not a demon?”