2AM
By Anonymous
2AM
The sound of the door slamming shut reverberated heavily around the shop. If music had been playing then the emptiness would’ve been filled, but it seems that the radio station fades out after the night has reached a certain point of darkness. Vernon was alone, standing next to the Babybels with a carton of semi-skimmed milk in his hand at 2AM when he heard a metallic scrape across the floor. The piercing sound hit his teeth as it went, and the footsteps that fell heavily next to the anonymous object pounded against Vernon’s eardrums.
He waited for the alarms, for the police sirens, for the cashier to notice that a new presence had set off the bell that hangs above the door. As the object shifted through the aisles, Vernon twisted and turned his mind over. Option one would be to hide, run around the aisles and perhaps find solace in between racks of clothes. It dragged passed the cat food, and option two would be to stand his ground, defy anyone who threatened him, deceive them into thinking his pajamas and Fluffy slippers were any sort of powerful. Through the washing up section, and Vernon’s heart was stumbling. Option three would be to hope that the intruder ignored him, perhaps direction whatever he wielded towards the Babybels next to him, sympathizing with Vernon’s innocence, maybe even directing their attention towards the cashier instead. The boisterous screech of metal on floor was louder than ever, with the occasional clatter and crash of it barging past the shelves, passing the fruit and vegetables, and Vernon scolded himself for his thought process.
When the tip of a boot rounded the corner, the milk carton fell to the floor and burst as Vernon’s threw his shaking hands above his head.
Next a knee, clad in dark green, and he swallowed a whimper.
A man’s face rose to meet his and behind his eyes, Vernon imagined bitter and merciless cruelty.
A mop rounded the corner, deftly handled by the stranger and turned on its head to meet the floor, and both people stilled. The stranger’s eyes fell to the puddle of semi-skimmed milk that pooled around Vernon’s slippers and let out a gentle sigh.
The sound of the door slamming shut reverberated heavily around the shop. If music had been playing then the emptiness would’ve been filled, but it seems that the radio station fades out after the night has reached a certain point of darkness. Vernon was alone, standing next to the Babybels with a carton of semi-skimmed milk in his hand at 2AM when he heard a metallic scrape across the floor. The piercing sound hit his teeth as it went, and the footsteps that fell heavily next to the anonymous object pounded against Vernon’s eardrums.
He waited for the alarms, for the police sirens, for the cashier to notice that a new presence had set off the bell that hangs above the door. As the object shifted through the aisles, Vernon twisted and turned his mind over. Option one would be to hide, run around the aisles and perhaps find solace in between racks of clothes. It dragged passed the cat food, and option two would be to stand his ground, defy anyone who threatened him, deceive them into thinking his pajamas and Fluffy slippers were any sort of powerful. Through the washing up section, and Vernon’s heart was stumbling. Option three would be to hope that the intruder ignored him, perhaps direction whatever he wielded towards the Babybels next to him, sympathizing with Vernon’s innocence, maybe even directing their attention towards the cashier instead. The boisterous screech of metal on floor was louder than ever, with the occasional clatter and crash of it barging past the shelves, passing the fruit and vegetables, and Vernon scolded himself for his thought process.
When the tip of a boot rounded the corner, the milk carton fell to the floor and burst as Vernon’s threw his shaking hands above his head.
Next a knee, clad in dark green, and he swallowed a whimper.
A man’s face rose to meet his and behind his eyes, Vernon imagined bitter and merciless cruelty.
A mop rounded the corner, deftly handled by the stranger and turned on its head to meet the floor, and both people stilled. The stranger’s eyes fell to the puddle of semi-skimmed milk that pooled around Vernon’s slippers and let out a gentle sigh.