Sea of Embers

Nostalgic Nightmares

Hurricane by Flurie

Nightmares exist

Outside the realm of logic, and

there is little fun to be had

In explanations

-Stephen King

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"Your Crown, Colonel."

The old bottle clunked against the surface of the counter as I unceremoniously set it there. Anyone within a mile of me could understand my predicament. They would also be able to tell just how unhappy I was. The less than pleased expression on my face was enough to cause flowers to wilt. The Colonel, unfortunately, caught the glass I all but threw at him. Darn. I turned to the other man.

"Water, Captain." I murmured, a tad more respectful now. It was still awkward, uncomfortable, and generally weird for me to be near him...especially with his intense gaze. Just his aura alone wafted power, and something so dangerous, so unpredictable that I almost shied away...yet, the feeling of respect was hard to ignore. He was still very young, yet he was dominant in the way I had only ever seen a true warrior be. Although frightening, it was also awe inspiring.

I gently nudged the tall glass of water, sliding it in his direction. The quiet scraping of the glass on the wood seemed to echo throughout the diner, and the air seemed to close around me. His hand had grabbed the glass, pulling it the rest of the way to him...but not before our fingers grazed.

It wasn't anything special, more uncomfortable to the least. His hand was warm, but rough...as if he had been working, most of his life, I would guess. Due to the scarring that lined his palm and fingers as well. Whatever he had done before the rebellion started, it wasn't a higher standard of living by any means. Of that, I was sure.

I quietly muttered the normal waitress sayings, telling them to just call if needed, then shuffled off, feeling like fool. I had never been so awkward in my entire life, it was slightly humiliating...what else could I have done?

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They left soon after, the jingle of the door chimes was the only sign. Had I not known any better I would have shunned the thought that they were most likely going to start another Flinching. But that's just the thing.

I knew better.

It was around five hours later, a little before three P.M. that I clocked out. Only three other customers came in that time. Mr. Dot, the manager was nowhere to be found.

"Shoe?" I called.

Silence.

"Shoe?" My voice cracked. I cleared my throat, then tried again. "Shoe I'm leaving."

More silence.

"You there?" I was beginning to worry. "Shoe if this is a prank I swear I will light all your underwear on fire, you know it's just the flick of a wrist away..." I threatened, hoping the thought of me using my power to ignite his precious tighty whities would get him to reveal himself.

Nothing.

Huh.

With quick movements, I untied the hideous pink apron from around my waist. It blended with the equally hideous wallpaper of the diner as I hung it up on the hook next to the kitchen door. Shoe was never quiet, ever...it was concerning just how silent it became. Was it hot in here? I fanned my face with my clammy hands. The temperature seemed to increase dramatically.