“John McBernette, please stay after class,” my english teacher ordered a few seconds before the bell. Suspecting I had been caught yet once again pulling a prank on my friend, I cursed the day she was born silently while sulking deeper into my seat. As I stood standing in front of her desk, awaiting her almost daily lecture, I realized that my life was not hot and spicy like I always imagined it to be at my present age. However, that was five years ago. Since that day I have been running, running from the biggest known hitman agency. It all started when I got home that day after school. I walked up the two flights of stairs into my empty apartment. An old, run-down, red bricked, twentieth century building. I crumpled the parent-teacher note I usually got, and tossed it into the trash. With my luck I probably missed, so I made my way back to the crumpled paper on the ground and put it into the trash, once again hitting the edge of the trash can and falling down.
“Damn,” I said casually to myself, “my luck is really off today.”
I was beginning to crave an after school snack, deciding toast would be the best choice, as there wasn’t much that could go wrong while making toast. Unfortunately, the toast caught fire after being in the toaster for a minute too long. I started to laugh, thinking I had jinxed myself into eternal unluckiness. Pouring a cup of water over the small flames was not what I had intended to do, but it had been an instinct. The flames were