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Why Do You Hate Me?
She stood there with her back against the tree trunk, glaring at me as if I was a mere cockroach. “I hate you.”
“Okay..” I said. “May I ask why?”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
“I don’t have to tell you why! It’s too obvious.”
“So, in other words, you hate me for no reason at all?”
“I do have a reason!”
“Then what is it?”
She stared at me like I was insane. “You’re pointing a gun at me!”
I looked at the gun in my hand. “Oh. Right. Forgot about that.”
“What kind of assassin are you?”
“One with a gun, apparently.” I pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. “What the–dang. Forgot to load it.”
My target bolted into the forest, snickering. “You are the worst assassin ever!”
I sighed and put my gun away. “Mom was right, I should’ve become a mortician instead.”
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