CHAPTER 1 - PEACE
"It's a beautiful morning, isn't it?" I say out loud.
The sun shines through the glass window, not burning hot but a subtle warmth that heals the soul. I like it. People are busy passing by living their lives as normal as can be.
The girl across replies, "If I didn't have to wake up early it'll be one," she frowns and takes a generous sip of the freshly blended coffee before complaining once again, "I wish the world would end tomorrow then I wouldn't have to go to work."
"You're right," I affirm as I walked away, tray in hand, and delivered another customer's order.
It's a peaceful day and I try my best to smile while my stomach lurches and the urge to puke keeps me on my toes. The cafe is not at all busy, but plenty of regulars come here before or after work to hang out. They look different everyday and it's amusing to see: some frowning tackling a problem, some content, and some are catching up on sleep beside a window basking in the sun.
I tread back to the complaining girl and took a seat. She's staring at me with her eyebrow raised.
"Is there something on my face?" I ask.
She frowns as she stirs the coffee. "I've always seen your face with that goofy smile of yours and never anything else. Are you a robot?"
"That's very creative," I reply, a chuckle leaving my lips.
She may as well be right. Work around here gets tedious with monotony as there isn't much to do, but it's peaceful here and every second is precious. I'm content and wish to live in this peaceful place forever.
"So what's gotten into you today?" I ask, elbows on the desk as I rest my chin on my hands.
She groans, takes another sip and melts into the chair looking up at the ceiling. Her hair waved gently as she tossed about, messy of course, but she looked so lovely that I can't seem to fault anything.
She takes a moment to think before saying, "There's this guy at work... I don't know what he's thinking, but he keeps on scowling and squinting at me and looks disgusted even, so I take it he hates my guts."
She sighs as she shifts and sits properly, stirring the coffee that seems to be empty now which she noticed. She clears her throat, a faint blush on her cheeks as she looks outside the window.
"But he's putting sweets under my desk when no one's around and I've seen it happen multiple times... I just pretend as if I didn't see him do it and act confused when I find the candies," she continues, acting normal, and I definitely didn't see her be clumsy as a courtesy.
"He definitely likes you," I say.
She shakes her head, "You won't think that when you see how he treats me at work."
"Well, how does he treat you at work?" I counter.
"Alright, for starters... whenever I notice him, he's always glaring at me. And then, whenever I'm talking with Miguel—he's an IT guy by the way, pretty swell dude—anyway, when I talk with Miguel, this guy always interrupts."
I nod, taking in the info, and say, "That's interesting. So how does this mysterious man interrupt?"
"Mysterious?" she says, eyebrow raised. "He's obnoxious and treats other people like they're the plague—and by other people, I meant Miguel. I swear he's not mysterious... if I had to guess, then he might be racist."
I smile wide. "Oh trust me dear Trish, he isn't."
"And why is that?" she asks, probing.
I look outside. The busy street is littered with cars. There's an old man walking a dog as it wagged its tail and circled the old man with its tongue out. They look happy. An old woman clings to his arm as she talks with a smile pointing at a billboard.
Up ahead, there's a guy holding a red balloon and a book with a red bow. He seems to be waiting for a bus.
The world is full of romance and peace. Nothing will happen today.
I turn to Trish, her eyes are sparkling. Those hazel brown eyes are beautiful under the sunlight, they shine. Her brows are furrowed again as we stare at each other.
"What? Is there something on my face?" she asks, checking her face for dirt or eye-boogers.
"Nope," I say. "You look beautiful, and very much clueless on romance."
She snaps back, pouting, "Excuse you, that's rude. And what's this got to do with romance?"
"That mysterious guy," I say.
She stops, thinks, and asks, "What about him? Don't tell me he likes me, 'cause I'm certain he doesn't. He's a bit confusing to read, but that one I'm sure of."
I chuckle. "Well he certainly does like you, that much I know. I'd say he's just awkward in showing his love for you. Think about the gifts and how he interrupts when you talk with another guy."
"He's jealous?" she asks, impressively understanding the thought immediately. "That doesn't seem like it to me. Well even if it is, that just makes him obsessive in my eyes and I hate that."
I shrug. "You're right. Just because he likes you doesn't mean you should too, it's not an obligation or anything."
"Right...," she trails, relieved that it was something simple.
She looks at her watch and promptly gets up. "Nice talking to you today, I have to go to work."
"Shop's always open for lovely customers," I say and nod.
A bell jingles as she walks out the door. I stare as she puts on a pink helmet and rides her cute scooter. She waves at me goodbye and I do the same as she zooms away and out of sight.
I shake my head and start cleaning up the table.
"Young gal's nice ain't she?" an old geezer comments.
I don't have to look to see his smirk. He's a simple guy to get along with, but he goes wherever he wants and stays there if he likes the place—that means the bathroom, my house, and even the staff lounge and rooms. He also doesn't order anything.
I can't get him to go, so he's been following and I think he's growing on me.
"I love her, that's for sure," I say honestly.
"Heh," he scoffs. "When I was your age I'd be telling girls how I feel and then we'd get it on, the same day I say my feelings."
"Impressive," I comment half-heartedly.
"I always failed of course, except for that one girl and now we're married," he laughs, boisterous. "I saw the opportunity and grabbed it tight, you should do the same."
"I will if you stop visiting my house."
"Not happening."
I shrug and continue about my day: entertaining customers, waving goodbye, and enjoying the cozy atmosphere. My father owns this cafe. He's gone now and my mother's keeping it running for some time.
I don't need to be here, but I need to be here. The place doesn't need me here, but I need this place. It's the only way I can forget about my troubles and all the responsibilities I have to carry.
Time passed and it was getting dark.
Everyone went home and I was the only one inside. A "we are closed" sign is hung outside and I take a fancy bread with me before closing the cafe for the day. I lock the door, but all of a sudden, my hands tremble and a surge of fear grips my heart. I struggle to breathe.
"Ready to go home kiddo?" a voice interrupts and I regain my calm.
"Just take the console with you," I say as I lock eyes with the geezer.
Looks like we're hanging out today after all. He's been hooked in playing this game about horse girls: he's raising their stats, winning races, and got really invested that he started buying figurines.
He's hiding all of them at my place.
"You know I can't bring it with me," he says before putting an arm over my shoulder and dragging me away. "Alright, now let's go home!"
"That's my house you know."
"It's mine now too!"
I sigh but chuckle at the lively old man. It's not a bad thing to have a friend, and friends always claim what's yours as theirs like it's a given.
Well, it is a given. What's yours is mine and what's mine is yours.
That's much better than getting into a relationship by which the saying goes from: what's yours is mine and what's mine is yours to what's yours is mine and what's mine is mine.
It's an interchangeable saying which doesn't say anything at all, but it's an apt description of most friendships and relationships.
In any case, we got home and the old geezer immediately turns the console on and gets himself comfortable. A bag of chips by the side and some cola.
I shake my head before heading to my room. Each step laborious and heavy.
The door snaps shut and my legs turn liquid. I fall and can't breathe as my heart echoes in my ribcage and reaches my ears with a thrumming pain.
Beads of sweat pour out and I hold myself in a fetal position, taking any sort of means for comfort, whispering that it's okay and that even if it happened exactly as it did—it was only a dream, a prophetic dream.
I open my eyes and glance at the window, wary and nauseous, but seeing the empty sky eased my suffering.
Don't worry.
It's all good and everything is okay.
Nothing happened today.
It only took a few seconds before that thought got shattered into pieces.
"No...!" I mutter and puked as I continue to gaze out the window and look up the sky with shaky eyes.
An enormous ring of fire opens and a single floating eyeball stares at the world. Its size greater than a building. A low hum of unease echoes throughout the neighborhood.
The eye zooms closer to the city observing the world below with the fiery portal still open from high above.
I stare as it noticed my gaze and trembles before a slit forms across the retina. The eye opens like a chest and shows a row of jagged teeth with blood and mucus dripping. A soul-rendering shriek leaves its eye-turned-mouth body.
A thunderous crash follows as it ravaged skyscrapers and lunges towards my location.