The Mirror In The Casket

MIC-Chapt. 2-Jaxon

"1 cup of strong coffee, no milk , no sugar, the names Jax, with an X"

"Coming right up take a seat"

After I ordered my drink I took my seat by the window. As a regular customer at StarCups Deluxe, I had taken to this particular seat ,as it gave me a relaxing view of the centuries old Californian beach. The chattering noise of the cafe could be heard over the swooshing of the ocean. I spent a few seconds looking dreamily out the window, the way you see people do in movies. But my life was no movie, I had business to get down to. I snapped back into reality, whipping out my computer. Aside from the ocean view my table had many advantages, it had a handy port where I could plug in my devices. I plugged in my computer and placed my WiFi cube on the table. "Order number 512, 1 strong coffee, no milk,no sugar,the names uuuuuuhhh... Jan...oh Jax!" 

"Oh that's me!" I called ,sliding from my seat and walking up to the counter. 

"Here ya go,that'll be 3 astorias and 2 flints. I handed him the required amount if a little over. "Keep the change" I offered as I picked up my drink. I turned round the cup with StarCups' signature logo. A small pixie sitting on the edge of a steaming coffee cup. I drew my eyes up a little further to where the shop assistant had scrawled my name. I let out a sigh as I saw the K and the S written where the X should stand. I've come here for the past 3 years and they still can't get my name right. I was starting to suspect that they were doing it deliberately. "Something wrong?" An elderly guy behind me asked.

"Ah no" I told him.

"Then get outta the way" he screamed waving his electro stick at me which sent him a bit off balance, he grabbed onto the counter using it as make shift support. "Oh. Right. Sorry." I stepped out of the way and walked back to my seat.

Finding a case is harder then I thought and digging up dirt on the government is harder, especially on the Political Party of America (PPA). The only thing I managed to dig up were some articles on nasty word exchanges over TweeterFace and a dying rumor that the PPA wasn't always a Democratic Party. Nothing extreme enough. Things that people don't care about nowadays. I gave up on searching scandals up on the internet, and trying to connect them to the government. My life has always been hard, always on the verge of that ledge that goes to rock bottom. Despairingly I let my head drop into my hands that were cramped from typing. I'd looked up everything I possibly could on Zooble. And Zooble's supposed to have the answer to everything.I looked out of the window, hoping to catch a slither of serenity from the overlapping waves of the ocean. The sounds they made reminding me of a memory I had of myself.

6 year old me, a few days after running out of the care home, I remember waddling towards a port. Fishermen lined every street and corner lobbing about their big buckets of fish. After wondering for days, it felt settling to see people's faces, aside from my muddy face in the countless shop windows I'd passed. I recall walking up to the smallest fish stall. See, all we had in the care home was cold sloppy noodles, so when I saw those fish I really was quite in awe. The old fisherman at the stall took this as an interest in fishing. He led me down to where his colleagues were busily at work throwing in the line and bringing it back out again. They almost never brought out an empty line. The old fisherman passed me a rod showing me how to work it. Then he turned to me and offered, " Go on boy! Give it a go." So I flung the rod in thinking it was all fun and games. All of a sudden I felt a small tugging sensation ringing through the tightly wound string. As a small kid my instincts told me someone was trying to take away my fishing rod. I started up a mighty wail going on about how no one was allowed to take my long swingy thing. The fisherman set about to calm me down and told me it meant I had caught something. He helped me reel in the line and flung the catch onto the stony cobbles infront of me. I stared at it in wonder, proud at what I had achieved. I drew my finger nearer to the fish, curious to touch it. As my finger contacted the wet scaly skin,the fish gave a shudder creating a squelching noise,making my naive 6 year old self think I had killed the fish twice by pressing it to hard, for it now lay still on the grey stones.Tears welled up in my eyes and I began to scream. The old fisherman-bless his soul- once again set about to calm me down. " calm down, calm down, it's just a fish boy" he consoled picking up the fish and flinging it in my face, the smell hit me like a ton of bricks. I'd never had the opportunity to smell fish before. The wave of nausea that hit me, continued to trail me even as I ran away. Since that day I was never able to eat a fish. Which is a shame because I think I would have really enjoyed sushi. Anyway, the point is even though it wasn't such a big deal, at that time I really needed someone, someone who understood me. Someone like a parent. That's all I ever needed. But there was always no one there.