“No.”

“Excuse me?” The man replied. He was giving me a look like he knew I was joking.

I wasn’t.

“I’m not doing it anymore. I want to live my life, get a job, start a family, go on trips. I don’t want to run around thwarting bank robbers and stopping murders. I don’t want to fix broken buildings or build new houses. I want a quiet job, maybe writing or something like that.”

The man was fuming. I could envision the smoke pouring out of his bright red ears and floating up past his dirty blond hair. He licked his lips before he spoke, and his tongue looked like a thick pink slug rolling around his lips.

“I don’t care what you want. This is what you need to do. It’s your job.” He said, his voice harsh with anger.

I looked at him with a piercing gaze. Oh, how I wanted to strike him down. Would it really be that hard? Would it really be that bad? Probably not.

“Well, since it my job, I can quit. So I quit.” There was a stunned silence for a moment, then I slowly turned and started to walk out of the office. When I got to the door, I turned around. He was just sitting there looking defeated.

And as I walked out of the office, I felt lighter than I had in years.

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I haven’t written in months, so any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!