Deliverance

I have always wondered where people got the idea that climbing into each other’s pants on the seat next to me in a tram, was acceptable behavior. I have always wondered what it would be like to toss my coffee in their general direction.

Instead, I do what I always do. I roll my eyes, accidentally kick one of them while shifting my legs, and turn the music up to at least try and drown out their moans. I do not hear the voice recording announce my station. I get up out of habit, clumsily knocking the steamy couple over. Now they will have more room to copulate. Why does the voice recording sound exactly the same, no matter which tram or train, city or country, you ride in? Is there one man and woman they have decided to use? They must be ridiculously rich. My voice sounds better anyway; they really should have chosen me.

It’s like with tv commercials. The man and woman always sound the same. Maybe they aren’t even real. Maybe it’s just computer generated. That probably saves them loads of money. Then again, I think they would earn a lot more if they’d stop using those ridiculous voices and make it more like reality tv.

I didn’t think it was that hot outside. In fact, with the wind blowing the way it was, I thought it chilly enough for a hoodie. Someone must have forgotten to tell the women of this city. Is that a skirt? Or is that a belt? That woman looks like she’s been wearing those jeans for 5 years and twenty pounds. There is no other way she could have ever put them on.

Work is my constant. I always know what will happen, and the good thing about being a barista is that you have regulars. You see them coming and by the time they’ve gotten to the counter, their grande cappuccino low-fat to go is already waiting. They love that. What I don’t understand is why the annoying regulars keep coming back. They always threaten to go to the competition, yet every day, sure as seasons, they come flouncing in.

I suppose they are just reminding me to be more grateful for the nice customers. Or help me feel less guilty for charging them extra to heat the milk above 80 degrees. After 60 degrees the milk sugar starts to disappear, which ruins the taste. Milk boiled to 100 degrees is essentially like corn starched water, at least taste wise. You want scalding milk? That will be 50 cents for physical damage to the rest of the milk that I won’t be able to use, and psychological damage to the barista who has to watch the milk deteriorate.

People think working behind the counter at the mall means you don’t have to work over time. Mall closes, you close, and then you go home. Those people think wrong. When you have worked all day understaffed, you cannot just go home because shop hours say you’re closed. This is food and beverages we are talking about.

Cleanliness is crucial. If there is so much as a teaspoon of milk stuck in the rim of the can, or the thermometer, you will have one hell of a time trying to get that off the next morning. Especially in the summer. You have to make sure nothing has expired. God help you if you sell expired cream cheese bagels. If you have ever eaten one, you will understand why.

It may be summer, but it is dark as I finally make my way to the last tram to my car, and then home. The streets are deserted. No one is around the mall at this time of the night. They have found their favourite bars and clubs by now.

So why am I hearing footsteps? The usual beggar and drunk sit cowering in their respective corners, glaring at each other. As the sharp blade presses against throat, and the overwhelming stench surrounds me, I realize the other footsteps have stopped.

He is threatening me. Probably warning me to not scream. The knife is forcing me to step backwards. The two hobos can only stare with hollow eyes. He is pulling me behind the building. I think I’m bleeding. He shoves me against the wall with knife still at my throat. I am very sure that I’m bleeding at this point. Do I risk kicking him in exchange for a pierced jugular?

I try and focus my thoughts to what he is saying. It’s hard. The pain… it hurts. He’s telling me to take my pants off. Not on my life. Not for you. Anything I do or say may set him off to slit my throat. So I say nothing. I do nothing. If he wants my pants he’s going to have to work for it. Either way I’m already dead.

He realizes this. But apparently sex with a corpse is not his fetish of choice, so he decides to do the job himself, the knife scratching and piercing my skin, better safe than sorry. Better hold the knife too close than too far away.

I raise up my hands to shove the knife away from my throat. He pulls away and slashes my arm. I scream, but it just echoes off the walls. No one can hear me. 

He snarls; presses the knife even deeper against my throat. My arm is gushing blood.  God the stench is unbearable. He’s touching me. I don’t know what’s worse. The pain, the smell, his hands… they throw me to the ground and everything begins to spin.

I start to shut down… there is too much. This just isn’t real, that is all. If I close my eyes and breathe as little as possible, the smell will go away, and I will wake up. The searing pain as he enters me jolts me back to life. This is real. I won’t wake up.

Every time he reenters, the pain increases. In that moment I decide that death is better than this. I have been bleeding a lot, and for a long time now. I don’t think I have the strength. In a last ditch effort, I push against him and kick. He is thrown off, but only for a moment. I’m not even on my knees, before he is back, and the knife stabs through my shoulder.

I don’t even have time to cry. Another slash, and the knife has sliced my throat open. And yet, even as I’m dying, all I can think is how the increasing darkness, the spreading numbness… is just deliverance.

 

 

Reviews

[Weaver]

no comma after "next to me in a tram"
"I have always wondered what it would be like to toss my coffee in their general direction." - I like this line - funny
"Is there one man and woman" - "Are there one man and one woman"
"wind blowing the way it was" - "the way it is"
"for 5 years" - "five"
comma after "You see them coming"
"above 80 degrees" - "eighty"
"60 degrees" - "sixty"
"100 degrees" - "one hundred"
"at least taste wise" - "taste-wise"
"50 cents" - "fifty"
no comma after "won’t be able to use"
"work over time" - "overtime"
no comma after "rim of the can"
"presses against throat" - "my throat"
"with knife still at my throat" - "with the knife"
comma after "If he wants my pants"
comma after "Either way"
comma, not semicolon, after "He snarls"
"God the stench" - comma after "God"
colon, not comma, after "don’t know what’s worse" - don't capitalize "The pain"
"they throw me" - "They"
"there is too much" - "There"
"last ditch" - "last-ditch"
no comma after "on my knees"
This story starts out with a lot of sardonic humor and ends up being quite dark. I think you handle the transition from one to the other well.

[Alex W]

Sorry it took so long to get around to reviewing it! Haven't been on the site in a while.

I really liked it, flows well and is easy to read. Decent little story. This style of writing can often go badly, as if you don't keep the story moving and interesting enough you could lose the reader. You did a very good job with it :-).

80/100

(I was attacked by some lads holding with a knives, without the sexual part thankfully, and I can tell you that the best thing to do is run. Unfortunately my brain didn't kick in to do so, and I ended up in a huge fight :-P )

[Alphachad]

First, you already had me at the first couple sentences. Then i got engrossed.
Let the grammar nazis do their jobs. I still think its a good piece. Well done. I think you made an awesome narration. Keep it up :D