You say you need a greater purpose.
I say you need to see what's coming.
The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

In Fear and Faith

I jerked awake from the most recent of the many micro-naps I'd inadvertently taken that morning. As always, I was up much too early, trying to ignore my internal clock from allowing me to doze at my register and silently swearing at each smelly, doughy customer who felt the need to buy smokes so damn early.

A typical day at my typical job in this typical town in my typical life.

I hated it. I hated this morning just like I hated every morning just like I hated the convenience store I worked at. I hated the store all the way from its chipped mop-water grey tiles that probably used to be white to the mystery-stained ceiling that looked about ready to cave in. I hated the sad excuse for a town from the endless, dry, broken cornfields that were its livelihood to the Dollar Store that was its epicenter. I hated it all, but most of all, I hated that I was a part of it. And always would be.

I counted the ceiling tiles, floor tiles, and the coins in my drawer a few more times before giving up trying to outwardly entertain myself and turning inward. It was my favorite pastime anyway. The only place I could be free from the restraints of my pitiful, pathetic, thin, little life.

Staring out at the road, wishing I was in one of the lucky cars just passing through, I closed my eyes and tried to picture my favorite place.

Cool ground spread beneath my feet as summer grass tickling my bare toes...

Shades of jade and olive prevailed even though the world seemed to have been plated in silver by the moon's faint light. It was a bright night, and the full moon shed its glow with pride, coating the world and giving it a magical sheen.

I was standing in a field of soft grass. Small colorful flowers in full bloom dotted the ground like vibrant spots on a quilt. The smell of damp earth and vegetation surrounded me, and slowly I began to sink deeper into my fantasy.

I could almost feel the warm, summer breeze weave between my fingers and around my ankles, welcoming me. I pulled in the heat, the new air, and a smile curved my lips. I felt home. There were woods surrounding the field - my woods. The quiet dark was so peaceful, so full, and so deep, I felt the tension of the world that caged me begin to slowly thaw and melt away.

Across the moonlit field, the shadows of the trees bled onto the ground like frozen, inky waves. Their branches stretched up, reaching for the stars, only a few inches from plucking one of the brilliant sparks out of the rich, velvet canvas above.

I gazed up and let the vastness of the sky calm me, the stillness of the air, of my own mind. Each star looked so small, just a pinprick of light. I wondered how much more was out there. I wished there was more out there.

Suddenly, I got the feeling I wasn't alone. Someone was there, just beyond the cover the branches provided, watching me from the blackness, waiting for something...

I opened my eyes. A cold knot coiled in my chest like a core of ice pulsing against my bones, burrowing its way deeper to a more permanent resting place. The woods had vanished, and I was back in the grungy store, nothing even slightly magical or serene in sight. Just weak morning light streaming in through the front doors, showing the dust wafting through the air.

I felt the uncanny feeling of being watched a lot, and now it was even creeping into my fantasies, in my most private thoughts of a place I had never shared with anyone. It felt oddly invasive that even my mental sanctuary was no longer my own. I breathed in the musty air of the shop and resigned that I was probably just imagining it. I had always been the paranoid type. I absently wondered if I had some disorder related to paranoia. I wondered if wondering about having a paranoia disorder was one of the criteria...

The door's shrill bell rang, and I was pulled from my thoughts once again. I mumbled a greeting to the squat, fleshy-faced man who entered as he made a beeline for the donut case. My greeting was left unanswered, awkwardly hanging in the air, as he either hadn't heard me or was ignoring me.

He reminded me of a large bug, with eyes that protruded so far I could almost imagine them falling out of their shallow sockets and rolling across the dirty floor, gathering crumbs and stray hairs along their journey.

He would be a fly if he was a bug, the way he flitted around the donut case made me sure of it. I hated flies. They were one of the few creatures on Earth I loathed. I turned back to the front doors and switched my thoughts. Instead of visualizing myself squishing the fly-man, I began dreaming of a world full of magic.

I had always been drawn to the idea of the impossible, creatures from myths, fantasy, delusion. Whatever it was called, I had always wished it was real. I had always wished there was more to life than what I saw, more meaning. Living and dying with nothing to show for it but paystubs and progeny seemed such a waste to me. In the end, it seemed that everything and everyone was terribly boring, and yet, fully content with their boring existence. I sighed the thought away.

The bug-eyed man chose his latest attempt at heart disease. A powdered, frosted, jelly-filled abomination with sprinkles that practically screamed, let me clog your arteries. I handed him his change and attempted a smile, but he was already turning away like I didn't even exist. Maybe I didn't. At the very least, my current life didn't check many boxes in the 'existence' column.

Suddenly, I had the overpowering desire to squish him. He would probably be one of those juicy flies that left a wet mark on the surface you crushed him against. A snapping, grinding noise in the air, like stepping on sand. I smiled as I thought of swatting him against the ground, hearing his bones crack and crumple against the hard surface.

I watched as the fat fly-man flitted away with a mean little smirk on my face he would have seen had he spent the manners to look at me during our brief interaction.

Bored yet again, I leaned back on the counter and started to piece through my latest dream from the night before, reaching for anything to keep my mind busy and off the numerous ways I could kill customers. I wasn't a psychiatrist, but I assumed fantasizing about the murders of strangers wasn't a mentally sound pastime - and even I knew my mind needed all the healthy-living tips it could get.

My dreams had always been vivid, and my last one was still semi-fresh in me, lurking in the peripherals of my mind, just waiting for my attention to turn to it so it could slip away, needling me further. There was something about a dark creature I didn't quite understand, something I was drawn to but afraid of. Running both toward and from, pushing and pulling.

I remembered being consumed with the need to find the thing while still terrified of what I would do once I did. What it would do. I wished the dream was real, even though I was pretty sure it had been more of a nightmare for the majority of the night.

I tried to remember how it ended as I made a round through the store, checking to make sure nothing was too far out of place. I never was much for cleaning the shit place, it was a lost cause, but I certainly did keep it organized. Alphabetizing, color-coordinating, and categorizing every possible piece of retail helped take up my time.

The fluorescents and tacky red and yellow paint job made me think of an old McDonalds before they became all 'artsy' and upgraded. The front counter was so cluttered I could barely fit my arms down to make a pillow for myself. But I laid my head down anyway, hoping to drift back into my forest, or at least another half-nap, when I felt it again, that innate sixth sense that forewarns you when someone is watching. But this was a touch different, almost heavier, deeper, closer?

Somehow this time the feeling was almost palpable, like a fog settling on my skin, running its cold breath down my arms, making my fingers tingle and the pit of ice in my chest beat faster, more urgently. I had always been suspicious of the world around me, of every person I passed on the sidewalk, and maybe this was just the next step in my paranoia - maybe I was finally losing it, seeing things, feeling things. Did people know when they were going crazy?

I glanced around, but no one had been in the store since the bug with the death-wish donut. I laid my head on the counter again and surrendered to the headache pounding behind my eyes, hoping my heightened paranoia was just a side effect from my date with bottles of cheap red the night before.

Five minutes or months later, the entrance bell trilled, and I looked up with another heavy sigh.

Considering my decrepit store was on the outskirts of a rural college town, the normal adults-under-thirty that came through usually fit into one of three pre-constructed categories quite neatly.

There were the mid-morning, hung-over zombies with bloodshot eyes, searching in a rather deranged way for orange juice and headache pills. The hipsters who traveled in packs with their mismatched outfits and funny little mustaches. And the late-night obliterated collegians, one class away from flunking out, on the hunt for more chasers or booze. They were the most entertaining, as they usually stumbled over our displays and attempted to get a number out of me while blearily smiling and dropping slurred pickup lines.

However, this group was distinctly different. None of my previous categories fit them. In fact, I couldn't think of any category that would fit them. They didn't walk in loudly laughing over some presumably low-slung joke, and they didn't drag their feet with hunched shoulders and hung heads like everyone else trapped in this town. Instead, they walked in purposefully and alert. They didn't even walk in, not really, they swept in, like a storm rolling inland.

The first to enter was a woman, maybe mid-twenties, with straight, glossy, black hair cascading halfway down her back. It seemed motionless behind her as she moved through the doorway. She had a feline way about her, from her light, graceful steps to her large, green eyes. I found myself in awe of her and kicking myself for not pursuing a more elegant hobby in my teenage years.

She was breathtakingly beautiful, with the kind of body most girls would kill for, slender strength with curves propped up in all the right places. I could almost see her jetéing and chasséing across the floor in a tutu and silky shoes. Her skin was as unique as the rest of her, a tanned sandalwood that made it impossible to guess her family origin - maybe African or Middle Eastern?

Regardless, seeing someone who so closely resembled a high-fashion model strutting through the cramped, grungy aisles of my store looked comical. Like putting an angel in the middle of a muddy cornfield on an overcast day.

She walked with a slight air, her chin held a touch too high, her eyes managing to look both disinterested and annoyed behind their vibrant lenses. Something about her seemed to say she had been told by countless people that she was gorgeous and now didn't see it as a compliment, merely a fact. I wondered if I only felt that way because I knew she would outshine me if I had an entire professional team, and she just a comb and tube of chapstick.

Practically on cue, she glanced at me, and I could almost hear her judgment. With the bedhead I hadn't bothered brushing pulled into a messy bun by a rubber band and my wrinkled, definitely-not-clean, mustardy-yellow work shirt all that was visible over the counter, I figured I probably looked about as attractive as a greasy, trampled dandelion.

Her sharp glance might as well have been audible.

Just the cashier. Probably a drop-out. Stupid, filthy, poor.

I quickly looked away to prevent myself from sneering at her dismissal of me. My boss had already warned me that 'one more conduct infraction' would lead to my termination. And she was right about the last judgment - I did need the money. Instead of losing my job, I switched my focus to the second member of the group as he entered.

He had long, choppy black hair that hung down his forehead, partially covering his eyes and sticking out at angles where it was tucked behind his ears. He looked a good part Asian, maybe half, the kind that gets only the best features from both parents, creating a blend of ethnicities more beautiful than any single one. His eyes had the kind of almond shape I'm sure made girls stop in their tracks. They were framed by lashes so dark and so thick, it almost looked like makeup. And with his big, black combat boots, dark-stained jeans, and ripped-up jacket, I wouldn't put eyeliner past him.

If his gorgeous eyes didn't get the girls' cheeks blushing, his bad-boy look and badder-boy build certainly would have. His bottom lip was pierced twice, snakebites, along with his eyebrow and nose and septum, and a multitude through his ears, the most notable being small gauges that curved into primitively carved shapes. The swirled tattoos that covered his neck from beneath his collar, and ran across his hands and knuckles finished off his look well. Everything about him was perfectly curated to keep the normals away, to advertise that he wasn't to be approached.

I had personally always been partial to snakebites, to darker looks, anything but the polite country boys my little town seemed to mass-produce. And he was certainly attractive in a gothic, ill-adjusted, probably-has-anger-and-mommy-issues sort of way.

I licked my lips. Hopefully he lived up to his style.

He was a bear of a man, midway between six and seven feet tall, with broad shoulders and a chest I expected was like the steel gleaming beneath his lips. I liked pretty things, and this man was the prettiest I had seen in a long time.

He was certainly my type, and I was sick of being bored. Men were easy for me to read and even easier to work. Maybe I could get a week or two out of him before he bored me or got too possessive, not in a fun way, but too clingy, too predictable. Maybe he would last a little longer if he was as rough as his looks suggested. Maybe he was violent. I loved a good violent steak. Something exciting to break through the layers of ice that dulled my mind most days, numbing it. Something to sweep away the dust of excruciating sameness that seemed to coat everything. Something to make my heart beat a little faster.

He looked up, and I caught his eye. I gave a little smile and a wink.

I personally thought 'the wink' was overtly obvious and asinine, but guys always went for it. It was like shooting fish in a barrel...with a machine gun.

I could see him silently size me up. His eyes dropped to my chest, then my waist, and finally back up to my face, basically everything that was visible above the counter. And though I knew none of it was overly impressive, he shot me a mischievous smile, his eyes practically groaning their agreement.

Men usually found me more attractive than women did. Probably because I didn't put much effort in. Women liked effort, expected it, but I didn't put effort into anything. I just didn't see the point. Apparently, apathy mixed with a little forward confidence and a warm body was irresistible to men, at least the kind I went for.

As I continued to picture what I assumed would be an enjoyable night with the damnably cute man, the last of the group walked in and wiped any thought of the goth from my mind.

He was younger than his companion by a year or two if my legal-age radar I had fine-tuned from serving college students was functioning properly. He was tall, athletic, and wore a short-sleeved grey t-shirt and dark jeans, nothing special. He looked in shape without unnecessary bulk. A quick strength that I assumed would make both his Asian-gothic-bear and runway-ballerina-cat friend look turtle-esque.

He had disheveled, dull blond hair that curled and hung in his face a little as if the damp morning fog outside had weighed it down, grey-blue eyes and mildly attractive features, but nothing to blush at. In fact, besides his athletic build, he didn't seem to fit in with his wildly attractive friends. There was something about him that was unique though, something interesting that the others didn't seem to possess. It piqued my interest, but I couldn't quite place it...

As soon as his foot broke the invisible plane separating the outside world from my store, I figured out what it was: even if he wasn't physically stunning, his presence was electric. I felt as if I was touching a live wire, like my skin was on fire. I felt dizzy. His current hit me like a wave, covering me as I took a step back. My chest was tight, my skin prickled, and I could feel my pulse quicken as the room began to tilt.

The feeling reminded me of the jolt you feel when adrenaline dumps into your veins just as you realize something terrible is about to happen, when your body tries to prepare you with a batch of fight-or-flight chemicals. It was like my body recognized his presence before I knew what there was to recognize. My legs would have given out if it wasn't for my vice grip on the counter, my knuckles turning white as they pushed against its ledge, elbows locked.

He entered without even glancing at me, not a judging look like his supermodel friend, not a lustful up-down like the goth. He just walked in, eyes sweeping the store as if he expected something sinister to be lurking in one of our well-lit, anti-theft-mirrored corners.

I'll admit it, I watched him, stalked him, as he walked through my store with his followers - and that's what they were, followers. Even though he had been the last to enter, he had somehow materialized at the front of the group. He walked, leading the other two with a lazy, confident gait that seemed dangerous to me. Maybe it wasn't his walk, maybe it was just him that seemed dangerous.

I was on edge, then again, that could be attributed to my pounding heart threatening to burst from my ribcage and escape my body, the adrenaline that was hissing through my veins, or the almost painful vibrating tingle I felt across every inch of my skin. He reminded me of a predator, feigning inattentiveness, but his calculated gaze when he had first entered gave him away. He was clearly the boss of his strange group.

Almost as if he could feel my eyes on him, he glanced toward the front counter. I hastily looked down and spun the thin ring I wore on my smallest finger in an attempt to look busy for a few seconds before I peeked up to check that he wasn't still looking.

He wasn't.

Instead, his eyes were staring out the front windows, head cocked like he had heard something. His brow held a slight line now like he was concentrating on something outside, but I couldn't imagine what. There were no cars in the parking lot beside the black SUV with tinted windows I assumed was theirs.

His eyes seemed a deeper blue than before, the grey completely gone, replaced by a dark navy so rare they looked unreal. Midnight blue. Like deep water or the night sky long after the sun has set. They had an edge to them that seemed cold, but there was also a brightness there, a sharp intelligence I found beautiful.

The goth veered off towards our bathrooms while the supermodel and leader walked to the cooler and grabbed three waters. The model looked over, catching me obviously staring, and said something to the leader. But his hair looked a brighter yellow now too, almost like a lion in the sun.

That's exactly what he reminded me of, a prowling lion: all lean muscle, golden, messy hair, and straight, gleaming teeth in a predator's grin.

Grin?

To my horror, I realized I was still staring, and he was now staring back, with eyes so deep and dark I felt like I was being pulled in, drowning in their waters' cold depths. I felt a shock of fear as a current ran up my spine. His mouth slowly curved higher on one side, displaying a cocky half-smirk, the kind I normally wiped off of men's faces with a sharp word and steady stare. But not this time.

Our eyes met for a full second before I could tear mine away. Realizing what a fool I probably looked, I quickly turned back towards the front doors. My hands shook as I fiddled with my ring once more. I had a sick feeling in the bottom of my stomach like something was very wrong, or something inside of me was trying to make it to the outside, probably my breakfast.

As I was mentally kicking myself for getting caught blatantly staring, the goth emerged from the bathroom and rejoined his group. I heard his heavy footfalls approaching the counter at about the same time I began wishing I didn't always work alone. I wanted nothing more than to hide in the backroom, to barricade myself out of view.

The woman appeared in my line of vision first, which was quite narrow, considering I was stiffly staring straight ahead. She set down her water, said 'three of them' in a silken voice that matched her feline look perfectly, and dropped a bill on the counter.

The goth and lion were behind her now, and when I glanced up, I was met by a pair of deep blue mocking eyes bearing down on me. The feeling of fear crept back into the shadowed corners of my mind, and even though I knew it was ridiculous, it felt like he was doing it on purpose, like he was somehow making me afraid, enjoying it even. I had the absurd feeling that he was putting the fear in me somehow.

Whatever he was doing, he was trying to make me look away, submit in some small way. I could almost hear him taunting me.

Look away, little one, do your job. You don't want to play with me.

My heart pounded a little faster as one corner of his mouth tipped up into that damn half-smirk again, daring me to hold his gaze longer.

His arrogant smile made something snap in me, and I felt a rush of calm wash over my mind. I matched his look with a small sarcastic smile of my own, raising my chin slightly to convey the acceptance of his challenge. I forced my eyes to exude the same arrogance as his and lifted one eyebrow a fraction.

Your move.

He didn't look away, so neither did I. I handed the change to the model without sparing her a glance, still holding my small smile and stare with the predator.

It seemed to go on for far too long to be socially acceptable, but I couldn't quit now. After what seemed an eternity, he dipped his head ever so slightly to the side, like the ghost of an old-fashioned bow, like he would be tipping his hat if he was wearing one, and his smirk changed a shade. He looked mildly amused as he turned to leave, the glimmer of laughter hidden in his eyes. His nod left a silent compliment hanging in the air.

Nice recovery, princess.

He seemed the type to frequently sprinkle belittling nicknames into conversation. The goth looked a little baffled and glanced at the model before shrugging and following the lion out of the store. The model hung back for a second longer, and her glare clearly let me know she was not as amused as the lion had been by my little show of boldness. I gave her an overly exaggerated smile in return.

"Have a great day!" I all but shouted in my best, perkiest customer service voice.

I heard the goth let out a snort of laughter before he was out of earshot. She sneered and turned to leave.

A wave of relief rushed over me as the group disappeared. At least I had turned my embarrassing blunder into a semi-confident end.

What do you think?  Do you love our little maladjusted protagonist? Or does she scare you a bit? I've gotten feedback from some saying they can relate...and others saying they think she needs a shrink (spoiler alert: she does).

And as a lil snazzy backstory, I wrote this first chapter while working in a gas station in college, in a small rural town the day after Halloween on printer paper when I got bored. Write what you know, yeah? But don't worry, I'm not our main gal...at least, not fully.

It only gets better (or worse? yeah, definitely worse) from here, but there's no turning back now. Want more of the mysterious trio? Then get to it! And drop me a comment or vote while you're at it!

Kamsamnida,
T