Die Without You - L.P

Same as Always

Ha ha look I'm starting another story. I know, I know, I bring dishonor onto my family. This was an idea I got from @meIodies story idea book. She has a bunchity bunch of great ideas so look at them.

The first chapter is boring but it gets better and idk I really like this idea. Tell me what you think please. Byeeeee.

-

Sadness is a strange thing. In fact, it could be said that it's not simply a thing, or even an emotion. Amy Dillard liked to think of it as a state of being, a lifestyle really. One that engulfed her soul until there was nothing left but black, empty space. That void remained within her, expanding and expanding and expanding to the point where it overtook her flesh and bones, and the existential parts of her were marked with dark patches of overwhelming melancholy. She was forever scarred by her sadness.

-

Amy Dillard was becoming a regular at the Blue Brick Pub. Every evening, when she finished grading worksheets at the primary school, she would clamber into her forest green truck and drive. Past the squat, brown buildings on Peachtree Street. Past the crumpled up fast food wrappers that littered the road. Past the old men who loitered around the flickering lamppost, chain smoking to their heart's content.

The people that watched her drive past always acknowledged her. Some waved. Some cupped their hands around their mouths and yelled a greeting. They smiled, fake smiles beneath pitying eyes. She nodded tightly in reply and drove on.

It's like I'm driving to my own funeral, she thought wryly. And only strangers are attending.

She parked her car on the curb and sat for a second. This was the moment in which she always noticed everything. Miniscule crumbs which were suddenly visible dotted the blackish grey seats. She saw every chip and crack on the dashboard. She could count every tiny ridge on the broken radio knob. The air smelled like whiskey, a scent so thick she could've swam in it. Every atom within her buzzed with life.

Then the moment of startling clarity was over, and her senses returned to normal. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes as if trying to restore some semblance of inner peace. Then she stepped out and walked up to the door.

It was never very loud there when she first arrived. A couple of college kids from the next town over lingered near the back, as they always did. They looked to be the intellectual types. Their voices and laughter were soft as they sipped mugs of beer.

She stood in the doorway for a second before collecting her thoughts and stepping up to the bar. The chair that was unofficially reserved for her squeaked as she sat upon it. She tapped her long fingers on the countertop and murmured a song under her breath. She didn't understand the lyrics, but it didn't matter. She didn't understand much of anything these days.

George shuffled to the bar slowly. He stood behind the counter and yawned widely. The bags under his eyes were as prominent as ever as he stretched his long limbs.

"How's it going, Amy?" he asked lazily. His voice was husky as if he'd just woken up. Amy knew he hadn't been sleeping, though. George was plagued by insomnia and never failed to look like the living dead.

"Same as always," she replied, not meeting his eyes. They both breathed and blinked and stared at nothing in particular.

"What'll you be having today?" He knew the answer already, but it was common courtesy to ask.

"Same as always," she repeated. He nodded and began to pour her drink.

Drops of amber colored liquid began to spill out the sides. They speckled the smooth birch counter, drying and blending in. She felt as if she was doing the same, melting into her monotonous life so seamlessly that she was becoming indistinguishable.

He pushed the glass over to her carefully and she listened to the resulting scraping sound. He poured another glass, this one filled with water, and set it beside the other. She never drank it immediately. She preferred to sit for a while and look before she let the alcohol enter her system.

The college boys were about to take their leave. They pulled on their coats and their voices rose in volume. One of them glanced her way. His flushed cheeks and shiny brown eyes met her bleak expression, and he stared at her in confusion for a bit. Then he was gone, leaving in a flurry of friends and chatter.

Soon after, a group of young women strolled in. Their kitten heels clicked on the hardwood as they giggled. When they spotted Amy, they halted abruptly. Each exchanged glances before Tina, the one in the light pink sweater, stepped forward. She gave Amy a tentative smile and closed the gap between them.

"Hi, Amy," she chirped nervously. She seemed more skittish than Amy remembered. Her hands twitched at her sides.

"How are you?" Her voice was unusually high pitched.

"Same as always," she intoned. It had become a little game she played with herself to see how long she could go with saying as little as possible.

"Oh. Well, I just wanted to... express my condolences."

"Thanks."

Tina stood there awkwardly for a couple seconds before nodding shortly and clearing her throat. "I'll see you around, Amy."

To this, she didn't even bother responding. Eventually, Tina walked away back to her group, and Amy watched the clock in front of her. The inside was plain enough but the outside rim was lit up with glowing neon colors. Pink, blue, and green. A horrible combination, but she'd grown used to it.

More people filtered in. Stocky men in business suits, carrying leather briefcases. Laughing women with rolled up sleeves, pencils tucked behind their ears. The smokers from outside trudged in, and the heavy odor still clung to their clothing.

Their voices filled the room, rising to the rafters and cramming every corner. A weary sense of joy infused into the air. They had made it through yet another day and would hopefully make it through many more. That was cause enough for celebration in their eyes.

But the glee they exuded wouldn't touch Amy. She was a pocket of sadness in their world. With a sudden jolt, she realized she couldn't remember what happiness felt like. There was no room for it left in her heart.