A War On Her World | TWD: D. Dixon

Ch. 1

The fog had long since rolled over the crop fields signifying the first presence of morning. The old rustic farmhouse of Elizabeth's grandparents -Mr and Mrs Hughes- sat in peaceful silence as all its inhabitants slept.

All except one.

A little girl of twelve years sat contently on her cushioned windowsill reading a novel that had seen better days but was so clearly loved and well-read. Time seemed irrelevant as she was sucked into the dark tale for hours, the moon morphing into the sun and the cold fading into the warmth of what would soon be just a nostalgic memory.

The morning rays seeped through young Elizabeth's bedroom window, hitting her face and book creating a welcoming glow of bright orange that compelled her to look out across the fields. There she was presented with a scene of her grandfather. He was tending to the horses, grooming and feeding them, following his daily routine like clockwork. The sight caused a large grin to spread across Elizabeth's face as she gently marked the page of the book, abandoning her spot with enthusiasm to go assist the man with his farm duties.

The minute the young girl exited her room on the second floor, she took to the stairs with heavy steps, immediately rushing through the kitchen and out the front door. She only stopped long enough to acknowledge her parents with a good morning and to slip on her aged brown sandals before she was off again.

"I'm going to help gran'pa!" Came the distant shout of Elizabeth who was already out the door and making her way down the paddock.

●

"Thank you, have a good one, " I said, sending another person off.

This day, in particular, had been quite slow in comparison to others, leaving me to stand idle for fairly long periods of time in between serving customers. Some may say it is better when it's slow at work, but I always found it to be more exhausting than other days. I dreaded the idea of having little to do since it meant I had to try harder to make myself look busy. It was either that or suffer the wrath of my manager.

Sighing, I turned around, ready to wait another fifteen minutes for the next person to enter the pharmacy. I was expecting to face the door leading to the backroom, but much to my dismay, if you think of the devil he shall appear. The minute I turned around, I was met with the image of the one and only store manager, Paul Cox. Appearing to share the same sentiments as me, his face became squished with dissatisfaction as it always did when he spoke to me. He didn't seem to be very fond of my presence at all, especially recently with the steady decline in customers.

He was set on blaming it on my way of speaking. I think he once said to me, 'I don't like your accent, you don't sound professional enough'.

"How many times must I tell you that it is unprofessional to address the customers in such a manner!"

At this point in time, I had come to the conclusion that biting my tongue was a lot better and a hell of a lot less stressful than arguing with my thick-skulled boss. I just couldn't see the point in it, not when he was in charge of my paycheck.

"Yes, Sir. I apologize, it won't happen again," I mumbled like a broken record. What was this, my nineteenth? twentieth time repeating the same words? Who could tell, I had long since lost count.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

My watch alarm beeped continuously, signifying the end of my shift. Tilting my head down towards my wrist, I pressed the small side buttons to turn off the sound before I once again looked to Mr Cox. I could feel his frustration with me increase within that very moment as he anticipated my leaving.