Stellar

1

//pov horseface 

i have an exceptionally awful job.

all my time and effort each weekend is spent milling around behind a tiny counter at a rundown store down the road. my bike is in shambles from the stupid potholes that just happen to appear at the worst of times, coming back and forth, back and forth. its a wonder i still have working knees. and a working bike.

 i come home every day smelling like cigars, and i can assure you, i do not smoke. i just happen to suck up some cash from a mini mart where its highlight is bubblegum flavored cigarettes. at least i can sneak myself a slushie; blue raspberry's my favorite. 

i guess, according to my manager, i actually looked "friendly" and "open minded," which automatically makes me qualified to do work with mathematics and people. man, they didn't even check my police report. good thing, i suppose. i've actually shoplifted a candy bar or two from the same store i find myself slaving away in for eight hours at a time. i mean, hey, you get hungry, you get hungry. 

most of my day composes of me seeing how long i can put all of my weight on one leg without falling to the floor like a confused flamingo, and shuffling through a crappy playlist using the nearby superstore wi-fi. i don't even know why i still work at the store. 

it was a dark, rainy monday (at least i think it was monday), and hotter and wetter than the jungle itself. my drenched jacket was carelessly thrown upon a stack of unpacked cardboard boxes to 'dry'. i found myself reaching over the side of the counter to grab a small pack of gum, and popped a stick into my mouth, wrinkling my nose for a brief moment when the strong taste of mint covered my tongue. i cringed. 

the lights flickered from the storm outside. i shrunk down, but then shook it off. i was like a scared puppy. the store was near empty, except for a single man, browsing absentmindedly through chips. he was middle aged, and quite friendly. he was very polite, and i even offered him some help. he was buying snacks for a party he was on his way to. he had kindness in his eyes. i always admired that about people. that was one thing i never did have. it was always a squint. or surprise. never that fondness. i felt bad. it was like RBF for men. 

suddenly, i heard the familiar tinkle of the bell upon the door. in my friendliest voice i could muster, i called out, "welcome, is there anything i can help you wi-" 

a shot rang through the store. 

i watched the chip man's body crumple to the ground, and immediately ducked behind the counter, scurrying under empty boxes. i hoped, prayed, that the man had no plans of looking under the boxes. silent tears streamed down my face. what would mom say? i heard heavy footsteps, walking, looking for someone. 

when i heard the feet walk around the counter, my heart began to thunder. there was a dead man right outside. did i really have to leave? do i absolutely have to get out from under this box? no, no, absolutely not. i heard the familiar thrum of the cash register, and hands sifting through money. part of me was relieved to remember a video camera was installed in the store. but it didn't help much. an armed citizen was within arms reach. if i so much as sniffed, i was done for. 

suddenly, everything froze, and i heard the quick footsteps, and the all-too-happy jingle of the store bell. i dared not move. 

after what felt like an hour beneath that stale-smelling box, i slowly, gingerly, slid out from underneath it. that was that. it had all happened so fast. everything happened almost instantaneously. i found myself walking towards the aisle the man had been browsing. 

fear was frozen upon his face. it was horrifying. the blood drained from my cheeks, and i felt dizzy. i had witnessed a murder. i was only 16 and i had witnessed the murder of a man i had gotten to know for about 5 minutes.

why did i feel so bad? i almost felt responsible. like i was the one with a gun. which was stupid. i never fired a gun. 

the police would be on their way after someone reported that  shot, i assumed. so, in the hot air by the grim glow of a swinging, flickering ceiling light, i called 911. anonymously, i described the details. my hands shook violently. eventually, after what seemed like ages, a dead man not even 15 feet away from me, the 911 lady hung up. 

i had never pedaled home faster.