Writing Prompts

Writing Prompt #5

Someone walks by your table and drops a folded napkin in front of you, trying to be discreet. It is a note saying, "Get out now. While your still can."

My hair would not stay in place regardless how much gel I put on this morning. My palms were still sticky from my failed attempt at styling this mane. Call me crazy but I could feel each individual strands begin to unfurl and re-curl, rebelling against me. A pout found its way to my features as I tried to smooth out the disobedient rebels. It didn't work. Actually, I think I made it worse.

My hands were stickier than before.

Anxiety began to bubble in the pit of my stomach, urging me to grab my things and leave as fast as humanly possible before something bad happened. I quickly disregarded those illogical thoughts and planted my feet firmly on the clean floor, reminding myself that it's okay, that I'm right here and that there's no possible anything bad would happen. It barely helped but I stayed anyways.

The booth I was sitting in was spotless, which I found immensely weird for this semi-crowded joint in the middle of the city. I placed my forehead on the table like a polite child throwing a tantrum and I welcomed the cold. Though every ounce of my being wanted to leave, I knew I had to stay.

I wanted to go home! I wanted my sofa bed. I wanted my cat, Neko-chwan. I wanted my GameBoy Color with the back piece missing. I wanted not to be so many miles from my cozy apartment. I wanted not to be wearing makeup that made my face itch. I wanted my hair to not look like I tried so hard. I wanted hot bread like everyone else had on their table except me. I wanted to not be here so bad. I wanted to leave.

I mean, Mom's house wasn't nearby, not too far either. It took an hour to get here by bus. Even if I left now, I wouldn't get home until after sunset.

The reason I'm in this dinner and the main cause of my anxiety is that I have to meet Mr. Right. "Have to" being the key phrase. Mom's neighbor set me up for a blind date, an offer I couldn't refuse since she sometimes pays Mom's rent when she's low on funds. My easily excited Mom was more than thrilled and took me to the mall for the perfect outfit. Her definition, not mine. That was yesterday. Now I'm here in this small ma & pa joint, patiently waiting to get rejected and die from an anxiety attack.

My heart didn't pound hard enough to prove my point. That dumb organ was dull and a bit too lazy to have an attack.

The scent of hot bread caught my attention before the lanky boy with curls leaking out of his hairnet appeared. He was my waiter slash greeter slash cook slash porter and I think he also worked the register. It seemed like this place was underemployed. He came over for the second time since I've been seated and smiled nervously at me. The corners of his mouth twitched from the stress of the forced smile and his eyebrows were furrowed in what I could only assume was the pain. Maybe he was tired.

He refilled my drink and simultaneously placed the basket of toasted bread at the center of my table. I thanked him and waited for him to leave before stuffing my face on my well-deserved bread.

Instead of going back to work, the waiter goes, "You waiting for someone?"

"Yeah, my date," I replied in what I hope wasn't a cheeky tone. I've been told I'm a bitch but I don't mean to be. It sort of slips out when I'm not fully conscious of my tone. It's a defense mechanism, my therapist once told me.

"You've been here a while." He mused.

My lips pursed to the side, not completely sure what he meant, "I'm not being stood up if that's what you're insinuating."

"No that's not what I meant!" He shouted, bringing his arms up in defense. Cold water drenched my dress causing me to stand up in a panic. The table shook and the basket with hot bread toppled over. The waiter apologized profusely, attempting to dry my stain with his dirty rag from his apron. Furiously I push him away, telling I can take care of myself. He stumbled back and continued to apologize for a low tone. The place was quiet as the whole room waited for me to blow up and cause a scene. My face felt hot and I knew I must have looked like an angry tomato right now.

Stomping towards the bathroom in the back, I pushed the double doors open and stood in front of the mirror.

Great... Just fucking great! Of course, Mom would pick a white jumper-dress. Now it was completely see through and of course, I would wear red panties just to top it off!

My life is officially pure shit right now. I sank to the ground and held my head between my knees. No, I wasn't having an attack but I might as well have. For a moment, I just needed everything to stop before the numb sensation in my brain made me stroke. After about a minute or so I stood up and walked towards the hand dryer and dried my outfit.

When I returned I saw my table was no longer a mini-disaster and that I was given a new tablecloth. There was a new glass of ice water and a fresher basket of bread. A small square was tucked into my bread basket, completely out of place.

"Get out now! While you still can!"

What the hell is that supposed to mean? I glanced at the small establishment in confusion. Only the clumsy waiter was ever near me and he had his hands full with a pitcher of water and a basket of bread, I highly doubt he left this note for me.

The booth had an air of mystery that wasn't there before. The sense of impending doom

Should I leave? I began to ask myself. What's going to happen if I stay? Anxiety gnawed at my heels urging me to run. Only one person was here before me, the one who brought the bread. The waiter was nowhere to be found.

I grabbed my purse and headed towards the kitchen. I needed some answers and I needed them now!