The Best Are Different

Link Richards ~ Work

The rest of the day breezed by and I don't remember half of it. 

I'm on my way out of the school doors, bag slung over one shoulder, posture slouched as usual. I was going left, then across the street to where one of my three part-time jobs was held. Today was the gas station, my personal favorite. You'll probably find out why in a bit. 

I scuff along the cracked sidewalk lazily, exhaling the last of the smoke from my cigarette, and tossing the budd on the ground for someone to step on or shake their head at. 

Then, magically, I end up in front of my workplace for the day. It's an old, rather run down, dirty, family owned bussiness, and a gas station as I believe I mentioned earlier. I straighten my back as much as I can, blink hard a few times, and walk in. 

It's the usual scene; a dirty white linoleum floor for me to clean later, a few annoying flies buzzing around the shelves, and a pretty redhead at the counter, guarding the cash. 

Her name's Ellie. I don't know her last name, age, or relationship status, but I've known her for a year now and she's probably the closet friend I have now even though I only she her when I work here. Sad, I know, don't rub it in. 

I don't know why my boss, Charles The Pain in the Azz, makes me do my shifts with her (actually it's probably because I look like I'm going to steal all of the money), but I'm happy about it. I guess. 

I toss my bag behind the counter, over Ellie's head. She waves. 

"Hey, it's Link!" she says, pretending to act like she didn't know I walked in. She always does that. Can you call that an inside joke? No? Okay. 

Work goes as planned (Luckily in some ways, unluckily in other ways); Ellie and I chat about music as I lazily clean the floors and occasionally take over the counter. We both play the guitar outside of work. I play the bass, but in my opinion that still counts as a guitar. I mean, it's called a bass guitarfor a reason, man. 

Eventually work is over, like it always is, because thankfully nothing lasts forever. 

Ellie leaves before I do, giving me an awkward hug and whispering in my ear to stop burning all of my things. I laugh. Then shortly after, I got  
to close up the shop. It's 9:00 p.m, and I get to walk home in the dark again because I don't have a car. Perfect. 

At first, everything was going pretty normal for these standards of mine. I trudge along, the annoying sound of my worn down sneakers scuffing against the asphalt, somehow transforming itself into music, and another cigarette hanging out of my mouth. I can't help it, it calms me somehow. I can't count how many times Ellie's told me to cut the habit, or my little brother Austin. 

Then, unpredictably out of the ominous late-night sky, I hear a blood curtling scream, a little girl's scream. My arm hairs stand on end and I hold my breath in as she screams again. 

"STOOOOP!!!"