The Mark in the Supermarket
The supermarket was too silent. Not the usual hum of chatter, carts raffling, or the beep of scanners. Just a heavy, hollow silence that seemed to press against my skin as mom and I walked through the sliding doors.
Mom pushed the trolley, smiling, asking me what snacks I wanted but I barely heard her. My attention was on the people. They weren't staring at us casually. They were watching is.
A woman in the fruit section froze mid-reach, her hand hovering over an apple. Her eyes followed us like we were intruders in a place we didn't belong. A man in the bakery stopped chewing, bread halfway to his mouth. A cashier paused mid-scan, her hands trembling slightly.
I whispered to mom, "Why is everyone looking at us like that?"
She forced a smile. "Maybe we look lost."
But I knew it wasn't normal. A chill ran down my spine, a premonition I couldn't shake.
We hurried through the aisles, bought what we needed, and left. The stairs followed us right out into the parking lot. My stomach dropped. Then I remembered.
"My bag - I left inside."
Mom groaned, rubbing her forehead. "It's not that far. Go quickly sweetheart."
I turned back towards the supermarket. A few steps inside, I froze.
They were there.
Three tall, dark men, standing like shadows against the bright fluorescent lights. Not shopping. Not moving. Watching.
Something deep in me screamed: Run.
I tried to go back toward mom - but across the lot, more men were closing in on her. I had no path. I had no choice
My legs carried me away, past carts and cars, until a familiar hand grabbed my arm.
My friend.
"You don't know?" he whispered, eyes wide with fear. "The end has begun. The Mark - 666. Everyone who refuses will die."
Before I could ask more, shadows loomed closer. He shoved me, "Go! Now!"
I ran blindly. My lungs burned. My legs shook. The pounding of boots behind me made my heart beat faster than I thought possible. Somehow by miracle, I escaped.
I crawled under the staircase in the storage area of the supermarket, curling into the darkness.
Voices echoed above. Cold. Deep. "Anyone who refuses the Mark will die."
A hand grabbed me.
The leader.
He towered over me, eyes black as voids. "You will accept the Mark," he whispered .
"No," I gasped. "I denied God once...not again."
He nodded to the others. Pain came fast and sharp; arms twisted behind me, fists into my ribs and stomach, boots slamming into my legs. My vision blurred. My throat ached from screaming.
And then... he asked.
"What about now?"
I smiled faintly as I shook my head in refusal.
They pressed my head against the shelf corner, the metal digging into my forehead, not enough to break skin but enough to make my skull pound. My breath came in short,.painful gasps.
Another blow forced me onto my knees. This time they pulled my arms upward and twisted my shoulders, straining them until pain shot through every nerve. My body trembled uncontrollably.
I gasped. They let me breath - but barely - then pressed down again, relentless. My knees scraped painfully on the concrete. I tried to crawl, to roll, to escape, but they were everywhere, pushing me back.
Pain wasn't constant - it came in waves., alternating between sharp strikes, crushing holds, and psychological terror. Every second stretched endlessly. Every moment whispered, give in
