… So you deny that 90% of the Earth's population exists? Am I wrong?
i used to run a bar, back in the day. right about twelve years ago now. maybe that’s not what most folks would consider back in the day, but i aged fast. you would too, in my position.
it was a great place down in the south, decent sized joint with a close knit staff. always bustling with business. saw quite a few commotions in that tavern. more often than not, that’s where the town’s rumour mill would catch wind. despite being a northerner myself, the cowboys seemed to like me well enough. i made a handful of friends. god, i loved our cook. great woman, jess.
now, i closed the bar at the peak of its popularity. everyone had their own idea why, some of those ideas being the right one, but— anyway. i left. i got the hell out of dodge. closed the bar as quickly as i could, packed my shit and left as soon as the sun started rising, gossip and friendships be damned.
i just didn’t have any other choice.
i’m always waiting for sunrise these days. i never used to be a night owl, really, i was one of those “early to bed, early to rise” types. sure, sometimes my work kept me up, but i had some semblance of a sleep schedule goin’ for me. i was a productive member of society, for whatever that’s worth now. i suspect it’s nothin’.
i don’t take to the night too well. i find myself waiting in that darkness, sometimes clutching a knife close to my chest. anything i think could hurt someone. something. i don’t look out the window. i don’t do anything but look straight ahead until the first pieces of morning overtake the room, wash it in that grey-blue haze. i always feel like i’m waiting for the other shoe to fall. for the ax to finally land on my neck.
i moved back to good ol’ new england afterward, straight into the depths of the woods. i’ve really never been a paranoid person, but i can’t feel safe in a crowd anymore. can’t stand towns, really can’t stand cities. who knows what lurks in the hearts of men?
i do. that’s why i stay the fuck away.
it’s about 6:37am on a tuesday morning, and there are two knocks on the door. soft, in quick succession. an even softer falls against the wood, like it might be a mistake. like someone’s hand was shaking. i hadn’t heard a car, hadn’t seen one in days, even–
i open the door slowly. revel in the creak, how unwelcoming it sounds. my nearest neighbour is a good drive down the mountain, moved here to take care of her grandmother and didn’t relocate when she passed. nice woman with a faint boston accent, emotive dark eyes.
she’s standing on my doorstep, and her hand lashes out to grip the door frame. i don’t see a car. “hi,” she says, and there’s some edge in her voice i can’t identify. some cut to it. “hi,” she repeats. her eyes are wild.
“can i help you?” i ask, carefully measured with what i hope is the right amount of nothing, but she’s already pushing past me, stumbling into my kitchen.
she’s suddenly digging through my drawers, tearing the whole place apart. i notice she’s barefoot as she turns to me and hisses, “phone.”
“where is your phone?” and her mouth is opened like she’s about to say something else, but nothing comes. a choked syllable seems to trail off to its untimely death. she only looks at me. she only looks past me.
a chill passes over the room and when i turn to shut the door, to tell her to get the hell out, i see it. he’s standing stock-still in the yard, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. the tall figure he cuts is still the same offsetting sharpness i remember from twelve years ago. his eyes gleam like disaster, like doom, like the ax about to fall.
i’m not afraid of him, i find. i’d like to make my morning coffee now. i’d like to have breakfast. i’d like him to leave.
“straightpeoplereceipts,” he practically sings, self satisfied and unbearable. “you deny that ninety-percent of the world’s population exists?”
i take a glance at the woman in the kitchen behind me. something seems to click then, and i don’t look back. i shut the door.
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