What a Horrible, Wicked World: A Collection of Horrors

Diner

Author note:
     Diner was inspired by my first job, where I worked at 16 until about 11pm every night. My manager usually kept me over because he didn't care I was a minor. It was while I was working here that a man attempted to kidnap a girl in broad daylight across the street, and after that ordeal I was too scared to even walk to my car after shifts. I was cleaning a table one night, and I saw there was a man sitting in a car in front of the window just staring at me. When he noticed I was staring back, he turned on his car and pulled out of the parking lot. I asked my parents for a handheld taser and mace after that.

TRIGGER WARNING:
THIS HAS VIOLENCE AGAINST WOMEN AS WELL AS MURDER.

"Almost closing time," Gerald said. He was eyeing the deep bosomed waitress cleaning off her tables for the night. I shook my head somberly. It was his infatuation that irritated me-made me want to lunge across the table and choke him by his snug collar, yelling so loudly that I would spit in his eyes as he gasped for air.

I made no eye contact as he called her over with a syrupy mocking tone, "Hey there, sweetie."

She was indeed a pretty, little thing, walking on slender legs with a long blonde mane down to her shoulders. Her eyes darted to Gerald then quickly away and she continued cleaning, almost frantically, as if she knew what he and I were planning to do to her. And then I glanced upwards at Gerald who's greedy eyes were surveying her up and down like a dirty dog watching its stick being thrown up in the air. It was whether or not, now, if he could catch it.

He sipped on his coffee, closely watching her every move and breaking his stare only when she noticed his eyes on her. How unsettling it must have felt to her, the intensity of a grown man's watchful examination as she was just trying to return safely home. In the spur of the moment, she accidentally knocked over a tray full of dishes and her immediate response was to lift her head to meet Gerald's eyes. He stood up, laughing, "I can help. I can help."

I stared on in disgust as he handed her a cup, his sagging face managing a wide smirk. How morbid his appearance did look, old and giving way to age, his stoutly body not helping him on any hope of being in any way attractive. But what even was attraction anymore? I had lost the memory of finding girls pretty by my 20s, when I met Gerald on the lonely journey of being a truck driver, and he had molded me into a younger, slightly more handsome mini him.

He had molded me into a convincing, pathological liar, who lied to himself more than others, telling himself, "Yes, this is alright. What I'm doing is okay. Women shouldn't be out this late anyways or even on this side of town." And then the guilt melted away, the guilt of the screaming and torture to myself of not stepping out while Gerald finished the dirtiest part of his weekly purge. I watched like a helpless bystander as lovely women fell victim to his deadly hobby. I never participated, though, and that left me with more sanity than Gerald, I did believe. I did hope.

I snapped my head back downwards as Gerald hobbled back over to our table, growling low, "She's a doll, huh?" I shrugged, spinning my ice cubes in my drink around with my straw. He laughed dryly, taking another drink of his coffee before he put his cash down on the tab. I nodded, thanking him for the meal, but did not express it in words because I was still nose deep into my conflicting thoughts. We left the diner, and before we got into the parking lot I took a photograph on my panorama camera of the red, LED sign on their roof. It came out nicely and I shook it so it would dry faster. Although it was smeared, it looked quite pleasant aside from the circumstances it was taken under. It just looked like another sign, but it was so much more than that.

As we hopped into the semi, Gerald asked if I was ready. He usually did that if I was displaying any anxiety or hesitance, since he really needed someone there to watch and take photos. I nodded, but secretly wished he would recognize my disagreement. Surely the man who thought of me so fondly could spare me for one week, the man who took me in and fathered me in a way I had never had, kept me close when he was far, where we would stay up late on the radio. Instead, he fired up the truck, whistling to the stereo as it emitted a quiet tune, but it was a fond song he knew. He pulled it around back and then we waited.