TWO WRONGS, ANOTHER MISHAP

TWO WRONGS, ANOTHER MISHAP

CHAPTER 1: THE HERO

CHAPTER 1: THE HERO

As I try to focus on pouring the milk into the blue-tinted metal cup, the blistering noise of the television news reporters above me reassuring the public of yesterday’s events faded as I see an unforgettable look a foot in front of me. I slashed that head, I tore off that skin, I watched as that face dissipated, she was dead. For a split second, it was as though time froze, for that split second I stared into her soul once more, then the ringing of the phone, the boisterous cafe, and the news reporter brought me back into this life. She was gone. Of course, it was imagined, I killed her. I handed out the freshly made drink to an emerald-eyed boy, who couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven. As he said thank you, I smiled, and swapped with my coworker for the register position. I take order after order, goodbyes after greetings, smiles, anger, patience, nervousness, as the hours flew by, it was drawing near the end of my shift. At midday, I left. Went to my evening classes, then home at 4:20pm. I lay in the bathtub reminiscing yesterday’s events, and today’s morning memories. I silently let a sigh out, of relief, perhaps? And mumbled to myself,

It’s really over.

I blink, then open my eyes to the news reporter from this morning looking so eagerly into my eyes from the chair four feet away. As he reads the transcript,

“How do you feel now that the once proud destructive force that roamed these streets, causing chaos, is now dead, due to your diligence?” he said with a hint of disbelief.

“Diligence? You flatter me.” This imbecile. “It was thanks to the hardworking citizens of this city, their faith in me helped me surpass the overbearing challenges, and although it was me who landed the final blow, I wouldn’t have been able to without them. So Thank you.” I respond to the camera’s eyes.

“Yes, well you are welcome, you wouldn’t have been able to do this without the support of the people.” He replies back while using his whole hand to wave at the camera. “Are you proud of this accomplishment? Many people, including myself, if we are, to be honest, doubted you.” He says once again with that look.

“I wouldn’t say proudness is the word, more like relief and gratitude that now the everyday common folk, such as yourself,” he didn’t like that…“could now sleep without dread or worry.”

“I see, then since our time is almost over, let me finish on this one comment,” He directed his attention from my face to the camera’s, “We are so happy more women are being represented today and this goes to show, don’t anger your wives men, or you will be the next Crying Emerald lying headless in the vast valley.” He says with a snicker and that look of supremacy in his eyes. He finishes with, “Thank you, and Goodnight city of Xtemos.”

I give him a half-assed smile, and a forced laugh as I walk past the entranceway. Finally able to go home, and rest. I unsuited this dreadful piece of fabric that was nothing more than a costume. I caught myself in the full body mirror placed in my living room, the delta of burn marks dispersed over my back, the burn marks that I remember to be excruciating, the burn marks she gave me. I sigh, and blink to open my eyes back to pouring the milk into a blue-tinted metal cup at 5 in the morning.

They air bits of the interview from last night, the news reporter from last night, Mister LB, as they call him, cant help himself from making those forceful jokes. Someone is bound to humble him. His voice clouds my head, making me lose focus, I spill the drink I was preparing.

“Errien! Look what you just did! You arrive late, leaving your brain at home, and now you’re wasting product and making a mess on my floor? Clean it up, right this second! I don’t want you making drinks anymore for today, switch with Jaz for the register when we open in 15.” My boss yells at me. Over spilling an ounce of milk, someone spat in his coffee this morning.

“Yes sir.” I assert as I am grabbing a rag to clean it.

We opened as he said, 15 minutes later. The first customer was already here.

“Good morning! Welcome to Daily Dainties, what can I get for you?” I greet them with a beaming smile.

“Sorry, I’m not ordering, just waiting for my kid.” They respond while taking a seat near the doorway.

I shrug it off, not caring too much, or batting an eye at them. Another person walks in, I take their order, they take a seat. I continue to perform my work duties, I get off for a break at 10, and when I do, the same covered-up figure is still waiting near the doorway. I still could care less at this point, I go off on break, come back at 10:30, finish my shift at midday. And everyday, for the rest of the week, at 6am, the same person, with the same hoody and sweats, sat at the same spot, for the same reason. Never was able to see this apparent “kid” they kept waiting for. I asked Jaz, the girl who worked the register from opening to midday before I did, she told me it was normal, and that they were a regular. She even told me that even though they wait from 6am, their kid doesn’t show up with the other parent until a little after 1 in the evening.

Being incredibly curious, the next week, I regain my original position, and decided to work the evening shift. I clock in at 11:50am, then eagerly wait. An hour goes by, then another, and another, and seven more, until closing. The kid never showed up. Yet, the person was there. Still, waiting. I walk up to them to inform them of our closing, and as I do, that’s when I see him. The emerald-eyed boy. With the sliver locs, and umber-brown skin, but to the corner of his left eye, was the presence of a familiar tear-drop-shaped beauty mark. It looked faded, as if someone tampered with it. I didn’t realize it the first time I saw him 2 weeks ago. The person stands up, and walks away with the boy. When they did, I saw their figure clearly. Under the baggy hoodie, and sweatshirt, was the figure of a dead person. My eyes widened, then I shut them close, convincing myself it was all being imagined. She’s dead. I killed her.

Months go by, the closed-off person doesn’t come back, and I forget. The coffee shop goes under, the town was silent ever since the “blissful day of December 4th” when the “brave, fighter for the people”, “Nyxon, killed off the deadly villain known as the Crying Emerald,” or CE as we, in the hero business called her, it meant Critical Emergency. It was code to “get your asses over here asap.” Of course, every now and then some wannabe tries robbing a jewelry store, or hold a banker at gunpoint, but crime rates drastically dropped. I mean, with their leader dead, that was normal, and bound to happen. I got tired of this sense of emptiness, and nothing to do, so I moved into the more busy, downtown parts of the city. The rural area became deserted after December 4th, people only moved there to get away from all the crime, now that it’s pretty much over, I guess they all moved back to the bumper-to-bumper, high rises, noisy area downtown.

I stashed away my suit into the closet, stopped going to “work” at the Heroes Main Association Building or HH, Heroes Headquarters for short. Rumors rose, some thought I was kidnapped, others thought I was dead. The truth is, without her, the work was meaningless. She made it fun, and I killed her. I got a new job at another local coffee shop.

I got there at 7:00am, prepping for the morning shift. As the doors opened an hour later, and as I greeted the first customer, I was frozen in place. It was her. She was here.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. I’ll just have a regular coffee, dark, please.” She said while smiling, reaching for her wallet.

“Cris?” I muttered.

“I’m sorry?” She responded, looking at me perplexed.

“Uhm, sorry, I must’ve been mistaken. The total’s 4.32.” I say scrambling to get the right buttons for the machine to work.

“Here you go, keep the change. Have a nice day.” She smiles so pleasantly while saying, delivering me 5 dollars, firmly. I smile back.

Not long after, a child comes through the doors, a boy, the emerald-eyed boy. He walks up to her, giving her a hug, and they take seats. Something’s off though, there are noticeable bandages strapped around his arms and legs. You can see blood through them. Although, barely. And his walk was weak. Extremely. Is he sick? But is that really her? The woman I killed that snowy night? The woman who was my best friend years ago? The woman I loved?