The first kill is the hardest. You’re hesitant, unsure if you’re doing it correctly, worried you’ll make a mistake and get caught. After you get away with the first, the rest are easier. But more than that: thrilling.

I found my passion for killing as a young child when I squeezed the life out of my cat and lied to everyone that she ran away. I buried the body in our backyard. We now have a sprawling garden in the backyard, a project I started when I was 11 years old. I planted a flower over every dead body I buried.

I’ve planted 17 flowers so far.

My 18th kill is one I’ve waited for for a long time. I wanted to make sure I was experienced before attempting this one.

I creep along the back side of my sister’s house, gently pushing in the back door. She never locks it, stupid girl. I stretch high on my tip toes to walk silently across the wooden floor, the back of my ankle stretching pleasurably. As I walk up the stairs I examine the pictures along the wall.

My sister and her husband. My sister and her kids. My sister and our mother. My sister and her father. Not one with my sister and me.

I walk straight into my sister’s master bedroom noting the absence of a person beside her. No problem. That will make this easier, albeit less fun.

I creep right up to her, hovering over her peaceful face, so deep in sleep, unaware that it would be her last. I cup my gloved hands around her neck and squeeze. Strangulation is the most intimate crime. For the others, except the cat, I stabbed them. Exactly fifteen stabs each time, the consistency making it dangerous for me but satisfying. For my sister, however, I wanted it to be special. Our relationship had always been special. I watch her eyes pop open, widen in surprise, and finally, go slack with death.

I smile with satisfaction, cover her face with the comforter and leave the house. The next day, as I am planting my 18th flower, the doorbell rings. When I open the door, there is a singular letter on the “Welcome Home” mat outside.

Levi,

I would like to meet you. Meet me at the Lakeside cemetery at 11 pm.

Hades

I almost laugh. What is this? I glance around, positive I will see some teenage kid snickering from the back of a tree. I rip the letter up and throw it away, not noticing it going up in flames as it reaches the trash can.

As I lounge in bed at 11 pm, my mind goes back to the letter. Hades. God of Death? My stomach slightly drops. Could it be the police? Someone else who’s figured out what I’ve done. What I have in my backyard?

But, nothing has happened. No police officer knocked on my door, no one accused me. I’m okay.

Just then a giant shadow overtakes the room, coating it in extreme darkness and splintering cold for a split second. As the darkness melts into light, a brooding figure appears at the foot of my bed.

I scramble backwards, heart racing in fear, mind figuring out how to get to the door.

“For someone who kills as much as you, who knew you’d be so scared,” a large, gruff voice says, coated with disapproval.

“Who are you?” I croak.

“Hades. I asked you to meet me but you ignore me. No one. Ignores. The God of death.”

“I- you’re real?”

“Of course I am. Now, we have business to discuss. It would have been easier in my home, rather than this trash dump of a home.”

“Business?” I’m whispering now, not wanting to anger him.

“Yes. I want you to work for me.”

I stare at him.

“As the God of Death, I have a quota. A certain number of souls that have to cross to the underworld to keep up the… let’s say the lifestyle I’m accustomed to. Now, I have Angels of Death that are responsible for filling this but they’re useless. Most of them go down to Earth, see pathetic humans suffering and can’t bear to kill anyone. Cowards.

But I’ve been watching you. You have no regret, no remorse. I watched you kill your own sister with your bare hands. I want you to work for me, kill for me. In return you can live in my castle. It has anything you can ever need and if you need anything else, ask the souls.”

I’m convinced I’m dreaming. How can any of this be real? Hades? Gods? Huh?

“Do I have a choice?”

Hades smirks, his cold eyes glinting. “Smart as well, I see. Yes, you do have a choice. Come with me.. or die.”

“Die?” I croak. “You need me.”

He scoffs. “You’re convenient. There are many serial killers in the world. It’s one of the things I love.”

There is only one logical choice. Everyone I’ve ever known is dead. The last person was my sister. I’ve never loved anyone in my entire life, didn’t feel anything when they died. The choice is easy. I have nothing to live for. I get up and cross over to Hades, ready to meet my fate.

The seasons pass, the leaves change color and the weather goes through its mood swings. Somewhere in Louisiana, in the backyard of a small duplex home, a 19th flower springs up from the ground.