Second Star Into Darkness

Chapter 2

The sunlight slit at Oliver's awaking eyes. Last night had been a disaster, but he was already worrying about the present. With a routine headache forcing its way into his head, he knew the day would be a bad one. He couldn't go one much longer if he could barely push himself up in bed each day.

Instantly, he missed sleep. What happened to that quiet when he was awake? He lived in an apartment alone and expectantly quiet, but the dusty city from outside rampaged in car horns and ray guns, his neighbors were arguers even in the littlest of situations, and the voice in his head was just plain obnoxious. What he wanted was silence.

Other than that, sleep provided forgetfulness, regularly helping him forget his stressful job and an unreasonable rent - things that always made life seem like an obvious defeat. Forgetfulness was what he needed, even if the doses sleep provided were just temporary.

By the time he trudged from his bed, dressed himself in grayish colors, ate a lousy breakfast, and walked more than a mile to that crappy job of his, the voice was already nagging him of his peace. He was trying to focus on wiping down a table when it kept averting his attention to everything and anything else. Most effectively, he wouldn't shut up about a certain girl sitting on the other side of the diner.

You possess a state of necessity for this female. Yet, you are suppressing her existence in your consciousness.

The dusty-blonde boy leaned awkwardly against a table, taking deep breaths in hopes of channeling the energy of his jittering heartbeat away from his chest. I know, shut up. He stared down at a blank notepad in the mind of seeming busy.

You disregard the actuality that you are ignoring the female and stressing to make it seem as if you are not hearing my percipience.

Oliver dropped the pad in the pocket of his red apron of a waiter's uniform. I know... shut up... It was true. He was ignoring the voice in his head. What was he supposed to do? Talk back with full sincerity - have full blown conversations with something in his own head?

Hello? the voice called out in the center of his eyes as he stared at the girl. Even when the boy didn't answer, the creature came to his point of calling, Your passive consciousness is an enigma of sorts... I cannot understand the reasoning behind many of these creations as a large quantity involve the girl. Furthermore, the communication of your active consciousness has ceased for an extensive number of moments.

A translation: I watch what you dream about and it's really confusing, but also kind of funny. Except now you aren't answering my statements and I need attention.

Oliver huffed and shook his head. He was too busy for communication with the intrusive being. He was using his time to unnoticably eye that peaceful, window table accompanied by the fine but modest girl. Everyday, at the exact same time, at the exact same table, in the exact same seat, the girl would order the exact same thing... and Oliver would serve her. He felt it was his duty of existing.

All Oliver wanted was talk her, but all the voice his head wanted was to complete his tasks of sorts - the ones he couldn't even explain well enough for Oliver to understand.

"May I take your order?" Oliver somehow found himself standing above the girl, his heart beating madly. She had neat curls of blonde hair tucked close to her shoulders and extremely long eyelashes that swung out when she batted her eyes.

She smiled, allowing her freckles to appear smoothly in the dim light, the same as Oliver's did when he blushed or felt embarrassed. "I'll have a hot chai tea with a lemon slice and two sugars." She batted the eyes.

Oliver cheeks when pink in a reassuring smile, no doubt showing off the bulbous dimples, and pretended to scribble her order on a crumpled sheet of notepad, but in truth, he knew the order by heart. And for the hundredth time, instead of flirting or asking to see her outside of work, he found himself turning to the kitchen staff, antisocially, and waiting eagerly for the order. Within no time, he was already setting the warm, soothing cup of tea in front of the girl - the girl in which he didn't even have the guts to ask her for name.