[ WP ] : You do n't remember what you do for a living . Literally . You black out for 8 hours 5 days a week and a paycheck appears once per month .

It was one of the most difficult decisions of my adult life. 
 
 The moment that you are told that you have the option to lose part of your memory for grand sums of money is the first time that you would ever be okay with voluntary amnesia. It could seem like a cheap cost at first. What would you miss? The boring, daily worker ’ s grind that has been plaguing your existence for 7 years? The thankless, hard work producing a menial paycheck that is forced into some savings fund by somebody else who is not working that job? 
 The only part of the day worth remembering is after I set my foot outside of my building. Done with the workday, done with the bullcrap scooped and piled on my lap for 8 hours at a time. Ready to drive home, rest up, and do whatever the hell I wanted until the rinse and repeat of tomorrow. 
 
 Even those evening hours were tainted by that old workman ’ s song and dance. I ’ d sit at home at 6pm, and waste most of my time dreaming of what else there was for me in this life. Each and every passion that sat dormant in my mind was unachievable, I knew that. That knowledge is what made that passing time so painful. 
 
 So, I suppose it was just the access to whiskey outside of work hours that made everything seem all right at the least. 
 
 When you truly sit and ponder the notion of losing that memory, of losing that routine and certainty, it becomes far less of an easy decision. Life comes fast and hard some days. There is no guarantee that missing out on such large portions of my days will be acceptable, if I somehow knew what it was I was no longer experiencing. You would keep asking yourself, “ Could it possibly be worth it, to rid my memory from 9am to 5pm every day? ” 
 
 “ There ’ s no way! ”, you ’ ll tell yourself repeatedly, and understandably so. Having control of one ’ s life from wakening to slumber is the most crucial aspect of being a free human being in today ’ s society. What could make a person not care about their daily consciousness, about their decisions, about their life? 
 
 A $ 150,000 paycheck handed to you weekly. That ’ s what. 
 
 Yes, that number and the fact that it is quite a substantially large number certainly takes away from the claim that this was the hardest decision of my life. But coming to terms with the reality of the cost in order to receive such a bizarre amount of money was something I struggled with for a very long time, before asking the employer where I should sign. 
 
 The job was simple. Every morning I would report to work at my new office building downtown at around 8:30am. I would arrive promptly, and take the lobby elevator to the 11th floor of the 50 floor high rise. Down the main corridor, I make my way to a bare office with a dark oak desk, an old leather chair in dire need of a WD-40 shower, and a long chaise with a backrest, similar to the type of couch you ’ d find in a psychiatrist ’ s office. 
 
 Shortly after arriving, my task is to take a thick, orange pill that is placed on my desk and seems to be waiting for me to show up every morning. I pop the pill in my mouth, choke it down with a gulp of ice water, and then lie down on the chaise. 
 
 And that was it, according to my personal knowledge. Five days of coma-esque napping at work, and I become $ 150,000 richer. Just for that week! 
 I had no idea what the “ work ” was, and I didn ’ t care to know. They wouldn ’ t tell me even if I kept pressing the matter; they were awfully secretive about the whole thing. When I accepted the job, I agreed not to begin prying or the drawn up contact would become null and void, and I was not interested in seeking new career opportunities at the time. 
 
 I take the pill, I lie down, and I black out for 8 hours. I never possess a single memory of the day, but I always wake up feeling well rested and excited to enjoy the rest of my life, with no additional worries bogging me down. 
 It was the perfect situation for me. It felt as if nothing could go wrong; until today… 
 
 I woke violently on the chaise, drenched in a cold sweat. I peered around the office trying to remember why I would feel so groggy, sweaty, and…anxious. Of course, I couldn ’ t remember a thing, that was the deal! 
 
 I struggled to bring my body upright and I smelled something pungent in the damp air of the office. Swaying momentarily, I straightened upright and stumbled over to the oak desk. In the corner of my vision, I spotted a black boot on the carpet beyond the desk. 
 
 I crept up closer to get a better look. It was a body. 
 
 I didn ’ t stick around long enough to investigate. Nerves and paranoia overcame my senses swiftly and I turned to run out of the room. 
 
 I reached for the door knob and ripped it open. A loud crack shot through the air as I felt a heavy blow from behind me. I couldn ’ t feel anything, only coldness and the sensation of my breathing slowing down rapidly. 
 
 A sheer pain became noticeable. I pushed my hands to my midsection, only to feel a warm, running liquid. I looked down to look at my hands. 
 
 The bullet wound was fresh and my blood poured out of my torso. A red circle extended its diameter on my blue button-down shirt. I turned slowly. As my vision faded, I was able to make out the shape of a body holding a gun, standing behind the dark oak desk in my office. 
 
 I fell forward. 
 
 Back to work… 
 
 
 *This is my first WP post. I hope it's somewhat enjoyable. This is a new hobby of mine that I am trying out and practicing, I welcome all truthful feedback and/or criticism. Thank you!
