Preferred Time of Death

I often think about where I’d like to be in the event that I go on to do something truly horrible in the future and am assassinated by a time traveling cyborg assassin with a silencer pistol.

It’s a natural thought when you’ve seen too many movies.

This hypothetical party that wants me dead can probably choose whatever time they want to drop in and kill this young and insignificant version of an inevitable menace to public decency, yours truly.

They’d probably choose a time when I’m on the can scrolling through memes, occasionally breathing a higher than usual amount of air from my nostrils.

But I recognized the moment I’d want them to invade yesterday afternoon.

I had just kissed my girlfriend goodbye after her lunch break, and sat on a bench along a crowded street, to finish my hot fudge sundae.

A baseball cap dutifully shields my eyes as I slowly savor a melting mountain of ice cream.

And I thought, “Yeah, that cyborg assassin could materialize through a time vortex right now and I’d be good.”

And no one would notice on that crowded street, that a laser bullet had just whizzed between my eyes.

My ice cream would splatter into the road landing suddenly, and some entitled Californian tourist in an Uber would scoff “I can’t believe how much they litter here.”

And people would think the body was just another bag of trash along the side of the street, ready to be picked up tomorrow like it always is.

So yeah, that five minutes is my preferred murder time if any time traveling assassins are taking notes;

I’ll see you yesterday.