I’m here, and I’m alive, but I don’t think I mind as much as I used to.
I’m early to work, but the store lights can already be seen through the windows.
“Morning, Shanna.” says Luka, slouching on the floor behind the counter.
“Good morning!” I say to him, smiling through my teeth.
He’s alright, I think, so I guess I don’t mind him too much.
The clock keeps running, and slow streams of customers keep coming in, buying things like bandages or little knickknacks.
My thoughts drift to what dinner’ll be tonight, but I try to stop looking so dazed when a young girl dumps a box of disposable gloves, a length of rope, and a set of kitchen knives.
I look her up and down. She looks like a shady character, I think.
I scan each of the items, and give her the price, dropping them into a plastic bag.
“With all this stuff, it looks like you’re going to murder somebody.” I quip.
She stops to look me straight on.
“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” she asks.
“No promises.” I laugh, handing her the plastic bag. “Have a nice day!”
She gives me a bitter smile in exchange for the bag and leaves.
I didn’t see her for another four weeks, but she stayed in my thoughts for two.
“She was just messing with me,” I think to myself. “who would confess to their cashier?”
Luka’s getting ready to leave, bag slung over his shoulder.
I told him my fears and thoughts, and he laughed at me, telling me not to worry. So, I didn’t.
Having made peace with that memory, I forgot about it for two weeks, until I had the misfortune of seeing her again.
On a sunny weekend in May, I stopped by a museum, alone.
I had come to look at the sculptures, but something else- or someone else, caught my eye instead.
“Hey, I know you!” came a voice from behind me.
I turned around to find the greasy girl from work, but looking about 90% less greasy.
“I know you too.” I said, staring at her dumbly.
“Of course you do. You’re my accomplice.” she said, ruffling through a museum guide.
“When did I say that?” I ask quietly, taking a good look at our empty surroundings.
“You don’t have to say it, but you know my secret, right?” she says.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I said, lying as best as I could and walking out of the gallery.
“We’ll meet again! I’m absolutely sure of it!” she whisper-yelled after me.
She was right, and we did meet again.
We continued to meet again - in shops, on the street, in parks- and every time, I asked her who her target was.
She wouldn’t tell me, and laughed at my frustration.
We began to smile with each other more, and laugh with each other more, until one day we had begun to meet on purpose, with times and places.
“Are we friends?” she asked me, twirling her straw.
“Of course we are.” I said.
“I’m glad we’re friends, then.” she smiled.
I couldn’t remember the last place we met until she saw me again, a long time later, on a cold and rainy day.
This time, I thought about her for a year, and didn’t see her for a time that was even longer than that.
I still came to work at the same place, and on days where I was awake, I wondered if it was best we didn’t meet again.
Then, on a foggy Saturday, Luka told me he was quitting.
“I can’t take it anymore. I mean, the lights are basically sucking my soul out. Sorry.” I heard these words through a tinny phone speaker, and the next day I missed him a little, and the day after that I missed him more.
My new coworker was a pretty looking girl named Kylie.
Kylie was quiet, and had trouble with the register, but other than that I thought she was alright.
So, I would put up with it some more.
The last time I saw her was on a rainy May day, and I had forgotten my umbrella at home.
I got ready to sprint to my car in the downpour, and when my feet splashed through the second puddle, I saw her again.
“You’re the girl!” I shouted across the parking lot.
She ran up to me, and as she got closer I could see the corners of her mouth turned slightly upwards, holding back a smile.
“The murder didn’t work out. Sorry, accomplice!” she laughs, slipping her hands into her pockets.
“Well, will you finally tell me now?” I teased.
She kept smiling, and told me it was herself.
“Oh. And what happened to that?” I ask.
The rain kept hammering down, louder than before, and she told me a great, grand tale, a melancholy story starting from the day we met.
Her breathing shudders gently, and her eyes are deeply bloodshot.
Tamira looks beautiful, even in a sickly near-death.
I take long deep breaths and steady my own shaking hands that jitter uncontrollably.
Her carved face is caked with dirt and blood, and it’s a terrible contrast from the pristine places I would imagine her, halls of gold and beautiful creatures decked in mountains of crystals and gems.
Her eyelashes, short and straight, slowly flutter open and closed.
Sterile white walls are silent, except for the breathing of me, her and, it seems, someone’s long shadow.
A second girl, with a sharp jaw and mean eyes, stands in the doorway.
I recognize her, from the Medi-Clean commercials.
She leans on the doorframe, and draws in a quick breath.
I notice that the beautiful girl’s eyes have not opened again.
“Hey,” I say before I can stop myself, “You’re the girl from the Medi-Clean commercials.”
“You should have listened to me, Sian.”
I slowly bring myself up, off the linoleum tiles and away from Tamira. I look down at her limp form again, and something like guilt bubbles in my chest.
“You have to get help,” I say. “You see that girl on the floor? She’s going to die.”
“You know her?” responds the girl, a concerned look in her eyes.
“What do you mean? Call the fucking police, an ambulance, whatever! Get it through your head!” My screaming bounces off the walls, and lingers.
She stares at Tamira’s body, and there’s a hunger I don’t recognize in her gaze.
“Do you know why I’m here, Sian? Or are you only focused on what you see in front of you?”
Her voice is quiet, but strangely warm and friendly, and I barely make out her warning.
She steps closer to me, closer to the light, and I can see her matted, tangled hair, framing a sickly complexion.
If I run out of here, I think, I can borrow someone’s phone and call 911.
“Are you going to just stand there? Or will you do something, before your friend really does die?” she snaps at me.
I take a step back nearer to Tamira’s shuddering form.
“Leave me.”
I realize it’s Tamira speaking, and her ragged voice makes me feel all sorts of terrible.
“I won’t leave you behind, never.” I say.
I try to be brave and stand tall, but my shaking knees give me away, and she sees it, too.
Realizing my nerves, the mystery girl flips out a switchblade from her pocket, and waves the razor sharp point around at me, a mocking smile plastered on her face.
