My Birthday Mission
But today was the last day of my 25th year; tomorrow I would turn 26.
A tear slipped down my cheek.
[Host, you could call Gus. If he proposes on the spot, it counts as a successful mission.]
The usually cold voice of the system carried an unusual hint of sympathy.
I shook my head gently.
"No, it's pointless. He won't come back."
He could abandon me after a car accident, so there was no way he would turn around to propose to me.
I closed my eyes, quietly awaiting death.
At first, I coughed up a small amount of blood, but soon it turned into a steady stream. My insides felt like they were on fire.
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