An Empire of Our Little Emotion

Chapter 1

                     { Authors note: Hi! I'm not good at this whole speaking directly to viewers thing if anyone actually reads this, but I'm a high school student entering grade 12 soon and because college decisions are happening so soon, I'm deciding to give it one last try at being a writer. I'm going to publish some chapters on this book I've been writing so please let me know what you think and if all goes well, I'd like to finish and publish it to a hard copy! Thank you for your time and please take your time:) - A.H }

 *IMPORTANT NOTE! While this Chapter and the next are in the first person, the rest aren't and it's to let you get an idea of the character's lives and mental processes...that's not the only reason though but in time you'll understand why!*

                        

         Chapter 1

 | A life of serving tables and speaking shit with fondness...good enough |

The clouds are more fast paste today, my internal dialog is more slowed and monotone than usual, and customers seem to be moving as if it were a stop motion film. The café I work in is bright and plant-filled, it's meant to be heaven on earth since it's called Heavenly Gardens Café and though I don't usually like dealing with such bright colors in the morning, it's the only place that allows me to work and stay awake. Day in and day out it's the same group of people that walk in and out of the doors, I listen to how their day went as they wait for their order with a half-assed but warm smile, however when you hear the same problems or joys on loop, you grow numb to them with automated responses. The smell of cookies and coffee lingers through the air and paints anyone who walks through the doors for hours, it's a warm and docile place and though it's a little too preppy for me, I can't deny that I like the plants everywhere and admire the shop's beauty.

I enjoy the laughter of the people who comes voices from afar but I don't want them to talk to me because then they'll drown me with their siren giggling, an introvert who needs to make money is quite the predicament. But I won't deny that I'm more comfortable here than anywhere else, I've gotten used to the same voices and stories every day and I don't like change in my daily pattern even as much as I've wondered what a more active and popular life would be like. There's unlikely to be change though as I'm not rich and though I'm not ugly, I'm not social media viral pretty either, nor can I carry a conversation, which is why my life stays in the same cycle. Overall, I have a boring, repetitive but livable life, it's not fun or anything, but I can survive it at best.

"Here's your coffee with two milks one sugar and your cranberry muffin Miss Jones," I say with the same lazy smile as she slowly crinkles her face into her gentle and warm grin. She's a kind old lady that sees through others like there's some invisible crystal ball in front of her and is here at the same time almost every other day. "Thanks, Blossom," she says as she reaches for the handle of her cup, always with the same mischievous smile on her face when she says Blossom, and I know that it's to get a rise out of me. "You won't ever call me by my real name will you Miss Jones," I reply to her with an unamused look. "And you won't ever change that stone-cold Medusa look off your face, will you? Besides, Blossom sounds better than Rose. You know you won't catch a husband if you don't give a genuine smile once in a while." She's sneaky and quick-witted so I'll give her that, but it's always the same 'smile' or 'find yourself a lover lecture from her,' she's like a gossiping aunt that wants to know all the tea. "The day I give anyone a blinding smile is the day that both you and I will be laying in our caskets," I say as I turn around and walk back to the counter, but not before seeing her smile and chuckle.