Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Jas stares at me with a vacant, cruel expression. Some days I think she has a crush on me and wants attention, but other times, I’m pretty sure she’s simply a bully.
“I’m sorry, I saw there was a new shipment of water filters, I’ll go take that out to the shop floor.” Anything to end this conversation. I’ll need both hands to carry the box, so I won’t be able to use the cane, but I can limp my way there. Worst case scenario, I’ll fall face first and break my nose. It’s not like I’m looking for dates.
Chuck stares me down, narrowing his eyes so intensely I’m starting to suspect he ought to wear glasses and is refusing to do so because that would be as good as admitting that he’s no longer a fit young man. “Do that. And since you were late again, I’ll deduct that first hour from your pay.”
I nod and turn to the box.
My therapist should try having a conversation with Chuck. Maybe then she’d understand why I have violent fantasies. And they’re not even so bad. I just sometimes wish he’d step into a snare I accidentally-on-purpose left on the floor.
My real anger is reserved for a few very particular people, but according to my therapist, it’s not normal to want the men who murdered my family to suffer. I should “heal”, “let go”. Well, I won’t. I’m permanently fucked up because of their actions, and I vomited all my rageful bile into the stupid letter to Santa she told me to write as a way to “release my feelings”.
It’s not my fault she didn’t like what I wrote. It was too explicit for her to finish, apparently. Well, maybe my revenge fantasies are horrific because the things that happened to me were horrific. I can’t even sleep peacefully, because almost every night I dream of a reality where I find out that one of those bastards got shanked in prison. But that’s not going to happen, because none of them is doing time.
They all just… got away with it thanks to fake alibis, and my testimony was dismissed on account of age and the trauma I suffered. And yeah, it had been dark, the smoke obscured everything, but I will never forget the faces of the men who killed my mother, father and grandma. The bastard who shoved me down the stairs and then left me to die in a burning house is forever etched in my mind.
It was a miracle I survived, even though some days I regret that night didn’t claim my life too.
I can’t think about it too much or I might end up doing something stupid. It’s enough that I keep tabs on those four monsters and casually collect details about them in a scrapbook like some psycho.
One day, if something happens to any of them, cops will knock on my door, find the photos, newspaper cuttings, my revenge plan, and arrest me. Neighbors will say he kept to himself, didn’t have any friends, but was a nice boy. Textbook true crime drama. I might even get a Netflix series if the murders are particularly gruesome…
But I’m getting ahead of myself. My revenge fantasies are just that, and no justice will ever be given to my family or me.
That’s reality.
Reality is also carrying a box and feeling stared at when it takes me far too much effort to put it on the floor. I look back to check who’s spying on me, and when I can’t spot a single customer, my gaze darts to the rounded mirror Chuck had installed in the corner of the ceiling, to catch shoplifters. I don’t see anyone on there either.
A regular comes in, loudly greeting Chuck by the counter, but the strange sensation from before remains, as if I’m alone in the woods and can sense a predator stalking me in the shadows.
But it’s most likely just Jas looking for another way to humiliate me. Or date me. I really don’t know. It’s not like I’m out, and that girl can be so fucking weird. I swear I sensed an innuendo in the way she asked for something in return for silence.
And I’m not being delusional. She once told me I have “death in my eyes”, and I didn’t know if it was a dig or a compliment. I thanked her, confused, and she just smiled, so I’ve given up on trying to figure her out.
The sense of being watched persists, though by now, it could be my paranoia talking. The oppressive feeling of threat has never left me since the tragic home invasion that changed my life forever, and I can't be sure if I gained a sixth sense, or if I’m a skittish bug afraid of my own shadow.
By the end of the shift, my knee aches constantly, and I swallow some painkillers before venturing out after an unpleasant grumble from Chuck. But I do need this job, and the hunting store actually lets me utilize my skills and knowledge, so I’d rather stay, even with a boss like him.