Bleeding Hearts

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Why can’t people understand that humans fall under two critical categories: the can and the cannot.

Those who can do things will do the things they can do to prove that they can do numerous things, while the cannot realize they can’t do things the can can do and fall into a steep void full of humiliation and shame for they cannot do things they wish they could do.

Do you understand?

Those who can’t do what needs to be done are weak in the eyes of those who can and those who can will continue doing what the cannot can’t do to prove they are superior.

This is the world we have been thrust into and if we don’t figure out quickly which side we belong to, then society will immediately make this decision for us.

Which side of the coin do you fall on?



Beep. Beep. Beep.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Beep. Beep. Be-

My hand shoots from underneath my comforter and grabs the black alarm clock on my side table.

I pull it until the cord unplugs from the outlet and the harsh noise ends.

Ah, blissful silence.

I flip my pillow over to its other side and lay back down on it, relishing in its chilly surface. Just 5 more minutes of silen-

Ding-Ding- Dinggggg

Ding-Ding- Ding- DING

I moan in my pillow as my phone alarm, which is my backup in case I pull my actual alarm clock out of the wall, screams into the quiet room.

I look up and squint, searching for the device through my auburn curls which are obstructing my view.

I shake the hair out of my eyes and push my body into an upright position, arching my back until it pops and cracks.

Scooting to the edge of the bed, I snatch my phone into my hands and turn off the horrid sound.

It’s just a stark reminder in the front of my brain of what it brings, getting ready for my job at the cafe.

I allow my legs to dangle off the bed while I check my notifications as I do every morning. Maybe this morning will be different. Maybe my family texted and wanted to check in with me.

No Older Notifications.

Typical. I sigh and toss my phone beside me.

Once again I stretch out my lethargic limbs and take this moment to myself, in an hour I’ll be greeted by overweight truckers with sailor mouths and food-picky Karens looking for a free meal.

I lower my feet onto the dark wooden floors of the apartment and shuffle towards my attached bathroom.

The harsh yellow wallpaper violates my eyes when I turn on the lights.

Why did people in the ’70s think this was the style?

Shaking my head I continue to proceed with my 20-minute bathroom regimen: Shower, wash my face, brush my teeth, pop a few pimples, put in my contacts, and add cream to the purple bags underneath my dark forest green eyes.

With ten minutes left before I have to leave, I walk to the dresser across my bed and pull out my cafe uniform.

A knee-length, traditional light blue dress, with little shoulder sleeves and a white apron that ties around my waist. It’s a little old-fashioned but what can you expect from the small town of Oakdale?

Grabbing my purse and keys from the small table near my front door, I exit my apartment and lock the wooden door behind me.

The sky is painted in pink along the horizon as the sun begins to make its first appearance on this chilly morning.

I walk down three flights of creaky old stairs to my silver 2001 Plymouth neon car, or, who I like to call, Ken.

He may be a little squeaky on the brakes and smell like old cotton balls but he transports me from A to B and that’s what’s most important.

The drive to Belle’s cafe isn’t a long one, which is good for my car, and I arrive just on time for my six a.m. shift. You’d be surprised at how early people arrive to grab a cup of coffee or a delicious warm pastry created by Ms. Belle Savene herself.

Belle is a middle-aged southern gal who took no sass from nobody. She’s a little on the pudgy side but don’t let her looks fool you because her glares can scare the crap out of anyone. Sadly she lost the love of her life while he was overseas a decade or two ago, so, in dedication to him, she made this bakery in his honor.

However, by being the only cafe-bakery in town, we tend to have a lot of customers, and with Ms. Belle’s secret family recipes, the taste buds are never disappointed and customers leave with a warm belly and a smile on their face.

Once I pull into the parking lot I step out of the car and with a quick lock and beep-beep of Ken, I make my way to the restaurants’ closed doors.

Usually, I’m the first one here, however, the lights on in the back where the kitchen is placed, indicates that Claire, my co-worker and only close friend in town since I moved here, was already in the back preparing for today’s workload.

Just as my fingertips brush the metal handle of the door a quick rustling of leaves catches my attention behind me across the street. I swiftly turn my head, squinting, trying to get a better glimpse of what could be out there in the forest.

“Hello,” I say a little timidly into the open air, “anyone out there?”

I face-palm myself.

Obviously, if someone was hiding in the bushes they weren’t going to hop out and say, ‘yea, hey, I’m right here. Please walk over to this general area so it’s easier for me to kill you.’

My life is nothing but a tragedy.

I lean forward a bit, still squinting into the darkness, wondering if my eyes were playing games with me or if that was a human silhouette peeking between the trees.

Just as I take a step forward a loud bang erupts behind me.

I spin around following the noise, clutching a hand to my beating heart. Claire stands behind the door, her hand covering her mouth to quiet her obnoxious laughter.

“You should’ve seen your face!” She yells through the glass, slowly bending over, hands on her knees, laughing in hysterics.

I shake my head.

“Way to go. Very mature.” I clap mocking her.

She waves her hand in dismissal and walks back to the kitchen wiping away her tears.

What a child.

I check behind me one more time to see if anyone, or anything, was behind me but all seemed clear.

I rub my eyes, my contacts must be getting old.

With a shrug, I yank my purse higher on my shoulder and open the door to the cafe, however, the feeling of eyes staring at my neck never seems to waver as the door shuts behind me.


Hey guys!

Welcome to my first book Bleeding Hearts. I’ve been writing on and off since I was twelve and now six years later I have finally decided to publish a book on Wattpad!! I know that there might be some errors in the plot or in my spelling so please don’t be rude about it. You’re welcomed to leave comments and messages and I’ll get around to reading them.

Also remember that in the end this is MY book, so if you don’t like it well you’re always welcomed to leave :)

Happy readings

- Meraki_Kalon

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