Sarah walked into work as she usually did, a form of a drill, which had been instilled in her since childhood. People go to work because they have to because everyone does, so it made sense as a command. She wore her tight apron, which she despised because she felt as though it made her look fat and ugly. She worried a lot about what others thought of her, not that it mattered in a negative light, she figured. She didn’t think much of herself either.
Life hadn’t been kind to her. Her mother died when she was a small child, leaving behind a legacy of a drunken father and his abuses.
“I hate you, you little bitch,” he yelled one night. He threw a punch, and it landed right on her nose. Blood rolled out like a cliched river. This night was one of many, one of the foolish games life forced her to play. She knew better than to be the winner.
He threw a bottle of beer at her next. She cried out as the glass shattered and reflected the dim lights in the living room.
She ran to her room that night, crying. The tears wept down her face by themselves, not listening to reason, not listening to the wind.
Outside, a storm began to brew in the hollow evening. The stars hidden, the moon cloaked; there was no light.
Sarah gazed into the mirror at her features. They blurred to nothing, a faceless fiend. She didn’t recognize her mother in her face. She didn’t want to see her father.
“Sarah,” the manager, Mark, said.
“Yes, Mark,” she replied, pulling herself back from the mirror, not wanting to appear vain or like she was distracted from her job.
“I would like to have a word with you in private.”
Sarah passed the ice cream cartons, cold and dead but delicious to so many.
“You know, I find you to be an interesting gal.”
Sarah studied his face, looking for signs of meaning, and a fear began to form in her heart.
“Do you find me interesting?”
“I guess,” she replied back.
“Can I ask you to step closer? I’d like to see what is in your eyes.”
Sarah didn’t move.
“Come on, I think you have pretty eyes.”
Sarah didn’t move.
“Please come here.” Mark put his hand out, and he grabbed her arm. Sarah didn’t budge. Terror overcame her. She searched for words, for a sentence. It came.
“Your wife is pregnant,” she said.
“My wife is none of your business. She is nothing to me anyway. I have needs, and I am a man.”
Sarah’s lips quivered as he pulled her into him and began to trace their faint outline.
Suddenly, the door opened with a loud crashing noise, or perhaps that was Sarah’s perception.
“Sarah! Mark!” Stacy bellowed, an older employee with a lot of experience in the business of saints and sinners, at least she thought so.
“It was Sarah!” Mark yelled. “I can’t help but be charmed. My wife is pregnant, and I am lonely. She came in here and tried to seduce me.”
Stacy stabbed Sarah with her glare, turning into a Holy warrior.
“Sarah, you are a filthy whore!”
Sarah ran out of the building and into the parking lot. She didn’t bother to cry. Her keys shook in her hands, and she turned the ignition with a fiery force. The road bellowed out in front of her. She couldn’t feel the wind behind the glass, but it roared.
After an hour of driving, she decided to stop at a small diner. The neon lights invited her in to a 1950s sort of vibe. She took a seat at the bar, watching a chippy waitress pour coffee into an old man’s cup. He looked at her.
“Girly, what are you in here for?”
“Is this prison?” Sarah asked.
“Close enough,” he replied.
“I guess we’re in the Hotel California,” the waitress said, grabbing a cup of coffee for Sarah, even though she hadn’t asked for it.
“So much wit,” the man replied.
“Oh, Bob, stop being such a boy.”
“I’m not man enough for you?”
“Sweetie, I got a man.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Bob said, taking a sip of joe.
The three of them sat for a moment. An old lady came into the diner. She smelled like funeral roses to Sarah, time’s leftover aroma.
“And God said…” she started, looking at Bob.
“Not tonight, Rosemary.”
“Yes, tonight, for the Lord is with me. He rewards the faithful!” She sunk into a booth, unable to climb up into a barstool.
“God loves the pious,” Bob commented, turning his attention to the newspaper. He didn’t like the way she phrased her words.
Rosemary rolled her eyes, and she asked for some mashed potatoes and gravy, seeing as her teeth were all gone, left to dust in the carnage of life. The wind hit the glass of the place, and Rosemary chatted away about Hell and damnation.
A man in a suit walked into the diner, distracting everyone yet again.
“May I please have a cup of coffee.”
“Sure thing, sir,” and the waitress poured coffee into a cup.
The man examined Sarah like a text. Sarah’s face became hot with annoyance.
“You know, I run a business,” he said. Sarah thought it to be a form of teasing. She remained silent. “I could help you out. I have a nice house.”
“And a wife…” Sarah commented, defending herself.
“Don’t jump to conclusions.”
“You move too fast to not have a quick motor down there,” the waitress said.
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
“I don’t like men picking on girls,” the waitress said. She stared him right in the eye.
“I’m not picking on anyone.”
“He’s totally bankrupt,” Rosemary said. “Just trying to get his mores in your pants.”
“Now, people, I’ve had enough of this treatment. Do you know who I am?”
“No,” Bob said. He returned to reading the paper.
“Now I’m a businessman, Jeff Bently, a CEO of a big company, of “Great Ideas.” Who are you? You should fear me because I matter. I could sue this place and bring it down to Hell!” He commanded.
“God is more worthy of your fear, if you truly believe,” Bob said, he returned to the paper, ignoring the others for a moment, focused on the meaning of words, of the craft of diction.
“Fear the Lord, for He is with me!” Rosemary said. Suddenly, she grabbed her heart and fell to the floor. She landed like a sack of old potatoes.
In a rush, the waitress and Bob made the first move. Sarah held back, observing. Jeff Bently jumped back in fear.
Sarah found her courage and dialed 911. The ambulance came. The medics declared Rosemary dead on the scene and left with her body, a vessel once so filled with faith.
The three remaining mortals looked at each other.
“I think it’s time to go,” Sarah said.
“You don’t want to check out early,” the waitress said.
“I don’t want to check out at all,” Jeff Bently replied.
Outside, the night threatened the light of the diner, but it glowed on with the individuals standing together as a fateful group.
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