Fruit of my Labor
Beep. Beep. The past few days were filled with the beeps of scanning items at the grocery store. This job was one of the few that I could work at due to my weak ability. In the aisle next to me, Bart used his ability to levitate items to be scanned and bagged. Only when a gallon of milk came by on the conveyor belt did he manually scan it. Hours went by and our shift finished as I went to talk to Bart. “You know with a power like yours why don’t you work in the postal industry? They pay better.”
Right My Wrong
The smell of coffee wafting throughout the room opened my eyes from my brief nap on the couch. I poured two mugs and carried them to the back porch. The cold wind cut into my skin as I placed the coffee on the table and sipped it slowly. Snow gently fell across the woodland as our house sat by the frozen pond, with the town forty miles away. I stared at the pond in silence, finishing my coffee and taking a deep breath. I placed the cups in the sink, dumping the second mug then I reached for my notebook. Turning the pages, I reached my list and checked off a goal. Skimming through the list I then close the notebook and walk outside. I pick up a few pebbles and try to skip one across the ice. The stone clacks against the frozen water as I watch it slide away. After a while I step back into the warm home and examine our outdated calendar. Next week a date night we flew kites; so in tradition after a week goes by I pulled them out of the closet. A snow storm ravaged throughout the sky while snow piled on me. My hands felt frozen within my gloves as I attached one kite to a rock and held the other. The wind was brutal while the kite flapped around and hit the ground repeatedly. After half an hour I finally allowed myself to step inside and warm my pained fingers, and then I ticked off another goal in the notebook.
Managing stress is something I have learned to balance during my lifetime. I understand it can be a motivating factor but I also do not want it to push me over the edge. For the most part, finding time to relax is very important to me since I used to deal with depression years ago. Ever since I fought against my own negative state of mind and beat it I was determined to try my best not to fall back to my old ways. Thus, the need to take some time every week to relax and recoup so that I can stay happy and content with where I am and what I am doing. In general I like to play games, read stories, write, enjoy a cup of coffee, and socialize, all of which does help me relax to an extent. Coffee itself is my daily ritual and my wife and family have gifted several months’ supply of it. However, the activity that works best for me I like to save as a last resort because I feel like if it is used rarely then my mind does not have the opportunity to get bored of it. It would remain interesting and what helps the most is that my wife gifts it to me so I appreciate it even more so since it connects me with her in a sense. That and I have a habit of not spending money on myself so I would never allow myself to purchase something unless I deemed it necessary.
One More Wish
After eating some canned peas, I got up and stretched. “Back to work.” Continuing my morning ritual of dabbing Wish on my tongue, I set out for the camp. The stimulant in my system added some pep in my step. Streets were jagged while buildings were either toppled or damaged. The camp entered my line of sight with wanderers walking the streets. I tightened my backpacks’ straps as I entered the crowd. Makeshift stalls dotted the vicinity but mostly around the gated pharmacy.
Before leaving for the day, the Zodiacs sat at the roundtable filling out paperwork. “Last person for today, name to be determined by parents, born April 12th…Ah, he’s mine. Never mind guys, you can pack up for today.” Aries said as the head of the Zodiacs. The other Zodiacs stood up from their seat and began walking out of the office. Taurus and the Pisces twins, however, remained seated next to Aries.
I finally get to see the ocean, it’s as vast as my dreams. The water feels cool on my feet, feet I got from my actual father. Along with the book that brought me here. A small black leather bound book, with less then twenty pages- not that it mattered when words would disappear off the pages at 8 a.m. Days ago although it feels like a millenia; I lived in a dirty cell, those adults tried to pass off as rooms. The probing doctor- I hated that center that was for trouble and disheveled youths. I was an orphan or at least I was under the impression that I was; from losing my mother to a fire. I was institutionalized for not grieving enough when I was shell shocked by not knowing how basic needs would be met so I did not have the luxury to grieve in school. Doctors at the institute tried everything to find my father; as a way to avoid foster care, but an orphan with no parents to authorize or approve psychological tests. I was the perfect test dummy.
After completing seven food deliveries, I went home. I entered my apartment and every time felt a sense of emptiness. Not because I was lonely but because my jerk of a roommate took his furniture and moved back in with his parents. After an hour my phone started ringing, “Hey Oliver, how’s it going?”