ᴡɪɴᴅ ʙʟᴏᴡs ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴄʜɪᴍᴇs|| h. haganezuka

Ⓟⓡⓞⓛⓞⓖⓤⓔ

"And for the greatest up-and-coming artist, the award goes to..."

Your eyes glistened with tears as your name was called, and a glittery dress trailed behind you, creating a night sky with its sparkles as you walked up the stairs to the stage, roaring applause fading into a humming, warm feeling blossoming in your head.

"You will dazzle us all my dear, your work is something to be marveled at." The announcer said, with kind eyes and a fuzzy face.

Wait.

Why was his face fuzzy?

"E-excuse me?" you stammered out, as your surroundings were pushed and pulled into a dingy backroom with the smell of something strong assaulting your nose.

Ah, yes. Coffee.

You groaned and groggily pulled yourself up from your quick nap, glancing at a clock to find that your break ended in 3-ish minutes. Hair stuck to your face from the steam of the espresso machines, and the sweet smell of chocolate clung to your arm even after scrubbing all the mocha syrup off, you were always so clumsy during rush hour.

After chugging the rest of your complementary caffeine-sugar-nightmare you called 'coffee' (new syrups just got in, how could you resist?) You brushed off crumbs and regret from your apron and fixed your hair a bit, walking back out to the front of house.

You've been with this unnamed coffee chain for a couple of months now, noting the pay and benefits were just enough to get you to ignore the screaming customers and snot-nosed teenagers with their online drink orders that make you stroke out when you read them. Yeah maybe the benefits weren't that great, but you'll survive. You always did.

The monotonous work of pumping out lattes began when you hopped back on the floor, and you felt your mind start to wander. 'Only a couple more years now, and you'll have enough', you thought to yourself. A couple more paychecks, more time spent working dead-end jobs, more effort wasted on people who take you for granted, and everything you've been manifesting will come to fruition. You will get all you deserve. All the paintings you've sold for nothing, the college rejection letters you've burned, and the people who doubted you would be proven wrong when you're rich and famous and everyone loves you for the things only you can create. They will all rue the day they fucked with you.

'Rue the day', you chuckle to yourself. When did you become a Disney villain? Had spite dragged you down so far? You would have loved to ponder this conundrum a bit more if only the woman with a prissy face and angry expression in front of your bar flung a hot americano at you. A. Hot. Americano.

"Didn't you hear what I just said?! Are you ignoring me?! It's supposed to have NO WATER!" She screamed out, and as you grabbed the nearest rag to wipe off the scalding hot liquid. She reached over the bar and tried to yank your arm towards her. Tried, because at the moment all the syrups you spilled on yourself, the entitled soccer moms who saw no issue in insulting you, the weird men who said the creepiest things you can imagine, all for coffee, flashed before your eyes.

You snapped, just a little bit.

When the dust settled she was on the floor in a mix of screaming and crying and you were lunged over the bar, held back by your coworkers like some rabid animal about to bite. You were yelling something, but you couldn't hear yourself on account of the searing anger you felt. What was this all for again?

It wasn't long before you were outside the store, leaning against the back wall nursing some cold water and wiping off your soaked limbs, that sweet smell of chocolate mixing in with the acidic coffee. You've taken a second to calm down, as your manager stood in front of you. You could see where she was getting at.

"Listen, you are a valued member of our team, but that woman earlier works at the law firm across the street." She glanced at the huge building in front of yours, plastered in windows and tacky attorney advertisements. "Now, I'm not trying to accuse you or anything, even if she pressed charges it was self-defense, but you should have a bit more" She paused a bit, as if trying to place her words, "... restraint than tha-"

"I quit." You simply stated. "I. Quit. Consider tomorrow's check my last, I won't cause any more problems for you or the team. I'm not gonna walk on any eggshells for some woman who hurled her drink at me. I'm done." You took off your apron and shoved it into her arms, along with the soaked rag, and stomped off, leaving your manager in your wake. Your anger-fueled march continued to the bus stop, which was previously a 12-minute walk that felt like 30 seconds and simmered in all the feeling of the day. Your frustration, your anger... your sadness.

It was so hard since you left without looking back. It was hard seeing your mom's eyes reflect back at you in disappointment and disgust when you told her. It was hard picking up shirts you loved from the front lawn of your suburban sprawl home when your stuff was thrown out. It was hard fiddling with the key to the rusted mailbox you were assigned in your dingy, most likely unsafe apartment only to find nothing but dust and dashed dreams of college. It was hard working three jobs, it was hard paying bills, it was hard doing it all alone.

Your misty eyes had long turned into a river that flowed from your plump cheeks to the cracked concrete sidewalk as you sobbed into your arms, leaning against the bus stop pole. How long has it been? A year? 12 months, 365 days, 52 weeks, wait 53 weeks now? You couldn't place it, as the buzzing sensation in your head kept growing and growing, turning into a tidal wave of emotions and memories.

It made your vision go all bright for a second, blinding you. As blinding as the lights of a bus careening 80 miles toward you. It was brighter than anything you'd ever seen before. Except, that wasn't your vision going blurry from hot tears, it was a bus. Careening at you. At 80 miles an hour.

There wasn't even a fade to dark, you grimly noted. Blood soaked your chocolate and coffee-covered arms, spots dotted your bright vision. And that damn buzzing. It kept a rhythmic beat, twisting your head in knots until it was clear what it was trying to say.

"You will dazzle us all my dear, you are something to be marveled at."

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