"I've always dressed as a guy.
I never wanted to be a girl.
Because it's filled with hardships and emotional mood swings.
Like, liking someone and getting rejected, doesn't it hurt?
I've always wanted to be a guy..."

It's another day of lurking on the streets, hoping to find a decent job.

It's been days, probably months since I've begun my hunt for a living.

"Excuse me sir, would you happen to know about any open jobs?"

I asked hesitantly.

"No, sir. I apologize greatly."

The man responded as I muttered a quick,

"Alright."

I walked on and hunted the streets once more for my job, getting even more hopeless as each day passes by.

I couldn't take it anymore, I'd commit suicide if I could!

For I am left with almost nothing, just an empty house filled with memories of the past, and my wretched life.

What else could I achieve? Nothing, absolutely nothing.

I sat there, in my room, staring blankly at the wall opposite of me.

Holding a pistol on my right hand, ready to shoot.

I felt like dying, lying there in a pool of red, drifting into a quiet death.

No one would know, no one would care.

My body was to be left there, rotting into bones and ashes.

Waiting to be blown away by the wind, being forgotten in this forever caliginous world.

Should I?

"Bang!"

There goes the bullet, missing my head by mere centimetres, attempted to be shot by someone else.

I looked at the person who endeavoured such a dangerous act that I was going to do myself.

A tall silhouette stood by my door frame, holding two revolvers on either side of his hands.

"A sharpshooter, are we? Missed me by this much."

I spoke dully.

"Oh, trust me, miss. I intended to miss you. I could've killed you if I just could."

He returned my dull tone.

"Why are you here anyway? Who are you and how do you know I'm a girl?"

I asked with a tint of expression.

"Enough questions, miss! I'd slay you right here if you say another word!"

He snapped.

"Hmm, now why would that be?"

I responded, still the pistol in hand.

"I'm here to take you to..."