Cafe
He checked his watch once again.
13:07
She was late.
There was a low hum of conversation in the brightly lit coffee shop. He glanced around trying to be inconspicuous. Maybe this was a mistake, This place was way too open. Dangerous. The four walls that surrounded him were made of glass. He was completely exposed. Nothing inside this shop caught his eye. All seemed to be normal. Of course no one could really be called “normal” as such, well… by him anyway. As he had said on many occasions; “No one is merely ordinary, there is no such thing. Normalcy is just an illusion.”
The sound of profanities and smashing porcelain graced his ears. Again. One would assume that a shop with this level of pretentiousness would be able to employ at least a semi-competent waiting staff. He glanced down at the laminated lilac menu. Seven pounds of supposedly “imported roasted Brazilian coffee beans”. He scoffed to himself and pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. He turned as a nasally laugh sounded behind him. It was the elderly woman sitting three tables back. She was all skin and bones. The way her body shook as the laugh escaped her made him a little afraid that she might fall apart in her frail age. He sighed.
The bell of the coffee shop rang. Finally.
She wore a loose fitting white shirt with tight black sports trousers. He scrutinised her. Her outfit was unprofessional by his standards. The bag that hung on her shoulder was made of polyester, not a designer. But other factors of her appearance seemed to contradict with this first assessment. Her hair, while average and brown, appeared to be well kept - not a strand out of place. Too perfect for a girl who had just presumably had a work out session, as her outfit suggested. Her bag, while being a gym bag, appeared to be too small. A girl who looked so impeccable after working out would need more room for products and therefore would have needed a larger bag to carry said products. Most peculiar of all was the fact that she was still in this set of clothes. Surely she would have enough common sense to change before arriving at this pompous cafe. No one seemed to have noticed her presence. It seemed that at lease to them, she was perfectly ordinary. But he was not them.
He observed the way she moved. Her quiet confidence. The way her muscles almost tensed every time her feet landed on the ground, prepared to fight. Under her large black sunglasses he could see her eyes subtly shifting, making a sweep as she made her way through the shop. No one noticed each graceful, dancer-like move she made. The precision in her action as she swivelled to avoid a potentially catastrophic collision with another disastrous waitress, who almost crashed into her with a tray of thirty pound Afternoon Tea. Every move was made with purpose.
She grew closer and closer to his table, still facing forward. At no point since she entered the cafe had she appeared to have glanced his way. Just as it looked as if she was going to glide past his table she grabbed onto the chair that sat parallel to him. She then proceeded to drag the chair, setting about twenty inches away from his.
The girl proceeded to slump into the seat, throwing her bag beneath the iron garden table. He could see that this went against her nature, there was a subtle discomfort in her slouched posture. She disguised it well though.
Then they sat. Idle. He tried to look at anything and everything in the god forsaken cafe, anything but the girl sitting next to him. Settling on one of the large windows he glared out, searching for a distraction. He was now cursing his friend Barry to the fiery depths of hell for this whole ordeal. This was after all his fault. It was Barry’s bright idea to “get back out there again”. They sat, waiting for the other to make conversation. He began to tap his fingers on the table to a random rhythm. The girl threw him a sideways glance, probably wondering if he would start a conversation. She smiled at him. Well… it was the definition of a smile, but a definition was all it was. The corners of her mouth pulled up on either side and her teeth were showing. But those corners seemed to strain with the effort to stay up. It seemed as though smiling were also unnatural to her. She moved closer to him, there was almost no room between them now. Discomfort grew more intense within him.
He breathed a sigh of relief as a waitress finally noticed that their table was empty and made her way towards them. She staggered, almost dropping her empty tray but managed to catch herself at the last second. He felt as if he were obligated to give her a gold star from the triumphant look on her face.
“Good afternoon, what will you be having today?” she inquired snarkily, giving him a smirk, as if she though he was going to melt into a puddle at her feet. Although he had to admit, she was attractive. Or well, held some conventional characteristics that most guys his age would find appealing. Blonde hair, tall, thin. Yes, definitely. Too bad he was not most guys. She kept batting her lashes at him though, like some lovesick camel.
“Just a coffee.” He replied bluntly, not sparing her another glance. The girl beside him shot him a pointed look which he interpreted as her order, “She’ll have the same.” he added.
As the waitress clomped away from their table he analysed his surroundings once again. There was another waiter, male. He was stuttering and bumbling over his words as he tried to explain the menu to a group of girls. They were in their mid-twenties. Way out of his league, and they clearly knew it. From the way they were flirting with and giggling at the waiter, he assumed they were trying to get some drinks on the house. One girl placed her hand onto the waiter’s arm as she let out another squeaky laugh. Physical contact. Poor guy, he doesn’t stand a chance. They were good, he’d give them that. They’d probably done this before.
His eyes moved across the room again. Anything to distract him from his own situation. His eyes rested upon a middle aged man who had clearly seen better days. The man sat alone. His slightly balding head nearly sparkled in the sunlight. The man wore a beard that barely passed as fashionable. Combined with his crinkled, stained shirt, this man was aiming for the “rugged’ and “scruffy” look but had pulled off something on the verge of “homeless.” He had clearly separated from his spouse, looking at the way he was actively cyber stalking her social network accounts, exploiting the cafe’s free internet. Also there was the necklace round his neck where two wedding bands hung. However, the way he kept sneaking glances at the young girls on the other table suggested that he was maybe the reason for the separation.
He glanced briefly at the girl. She was still surveying the people. This girl was not at all conspicuous, easily blending into the background. Maybe if he had not been waiting and looking actively for her, as much as he would hate to admit it, he may have missed her too. She was disconcertingly quiet, but there was also an undertone of confidence laying under the surface of her icy disposition.
The sound of yet another limey imported porcelain set kissing the ground made him jump. From the corner of his eye he saw the woman from three tables back lean down, reaching for her bag. The girl suddenly froze, then quickly reanimated."It's time" the girl proclaimed. She abruptly stood up, knocking over her chair. It clashed against the hard floor. He looked up at her at the same time as the old woman.
"What the hell?" He questioned her, alarmed.
"No time" she answered grabbing his arm and shoving him down under the table.
The old woman stood up swiftly. He realised why she had reached for her purse. She grasped a pistol in her bony hands. It was aimed strait him.
"What the hell is going on!!?" He repeated to the girl, afraid now. She grabbed him by the collar and dragged him down when he attempted to crawl out from under the table.
She paid his question no attention. Kneeling down on one knee in front of him, she searched for something in her small bag. A gun. It was a gun.
“Wait! Wait!” he pleaded. She rolled her eyes. Getting onto one knee, the girl swivelled towards the woman and shot.
He jumped and knocked his head on the oak table. "What is going on?"
The old woman's body dropped to the ground while the rest of the cafe panicked and screamed. A few people had retrieved their phones and were now shouting down the line to the police. In the middle of the chaos he looked down to see the dead woman’s blood leaking onto the white floor. The contrast of red and white was nauseating.
"We have to go" she told him, crouching in front of him. When he didn't respond she huffed and glared at him “Oh come on!” she grabbed his arm yanked making him stand.
Keeping hold of his wrist she led him towards the glass doors of the cafe.
"Hold on a minute!" it was the hipster manager who looked as if he was about to faint. She stared him down looking at his moustache and bow tie. She gave him a look. No. She gave him the look. Coughing, the manager quickly averted his glance. But he still refused to move. Her arm thrashed out. The bottom of the gun connected with his temple, knocking him out. She then proceeded to walk over his unconscious body and out the door. Towing him along with her.
Once out the door he shook off her hand, making sure to put some distance between them. “What - is - going - on?” he demanded staring her right in the eye.
"The government have found out about about the program," she answered surveying the various streets the are in front of them.
"What do you mean?" he asked, slightly afraid, looking at all the CCTV cameras that were mounted on the other shops around them. He hoped that the police would see that he wasn’t her accomplice in this, whatever this is. He was the hostage.
"Wait." She stopped suddenly. Her head snapped towards him making him cringe a little under her harsh scrutiny. She paced towards him and took hold of his chin. After looking at his face she moved his face harshly to the left then seem to look at his neck, looking for a mark of some sort. Panic seemed to rise within her. She desperately looked at his neck, grabbing his hair and pulling it to the side in an attempt to find some sort of mark.
"Damn, " she whispered.
Stepping away from him so that there was now two feet apart she raised her arm.
He felt the cold barrel press against his forehead.
"Damn."
13:07
She was late.
There was a low hum of conversation in the brightly lit coffee shop. He glanced around trying to be inconspicuous. Maybe this was a mistake, This place was way too open. Dangerous. The four walls that surrounded him were made of glass. He was completely exposed. Nothing inside this shop caught his eye. All seemed to be normal. Of course no one could really be called “normal” as such, well… by him anyway. As he had said on many occasions; “No one is merely ordinary, there is no such thing. Normalcy is just an illusion.”
The sound of profanities and smashing porcelain graced his ears. Again. One would assume that a shop with this level of pretentiousness would be able to employ at least a semi-competent waiting staff. He glanced down at the laminated lilac menu. Seven pounds of supposedly “imported roasted Brazilian coffee beans”. He scoffed to himself and pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. He turned as a nasally laugh sounded behind him. It was the elderly woman sitting three tables back. She was all skin and bones. The way her body shook as the laugh escaped her made him a little afraid that she might fall apart in her frail age. He sighed.
The bell of the coffee shop rang. Finally.
She wore a loose fitting white shirt with tight black sports trousers. He scrutinised her. Her outfit was unprofessional by his standards. The bag that hung on her shoulder was made of polyester, not a designer. But other factors of her appearance seemed to contradict with this first assessment. Her hair, while average and brown, appeared to be well kept - not a strand out of place. Too perfect for a girl who had just presumably had a work out session, as her outfit suggested. Her bag, while being a gym bag, appeared to be too small. A girl who looked so impeccable after working out would need more room for products and therefore would have needed a larger bag to carry said products. Most peculiar of all was the fact that she was still in this set of clothes. Surely she would have enough common sense to change before arriving at this pompous cafe. No one seemed to have noticed her presence. It seemed that at lease to them, she was perfectly ordinary. But he was not them.
He observed the way she moved. Her quiet confidence. The way her muscles almost tensed every time her feet landed on the ground, prepared to fight. Under her large black sunglasses he could see her eyes subtly shifting, making a sweep as she made her way through the shop. No one noticed each graceful, dancer-like move she made. The precision in her action as she swivelled to avoid a potentially catastrophic collision with another disastrous waitress, who almost crashed into her with a tray of thirty pound Afternoon Tea. Every move was made with purpose.
She grew closer and closer to his table, still facing forward. At no point since she entered the cafe had she appeared to have glanced his way. Just as it looked as if she was going to glide past his table she grabbed onto the chair that sat parallel to him. She then proceeded to drag the chair, setting about twenty inches away from his.
The girl proceeded to slump into the seat, throwing her bag beneath the iron garden table. He could see that this went against her nature, there was a subtle discomfort in her slouched posture. She disguised it well though.
Then they sat. Idle. He tried to look at anything and everything in the god forsaken cafe, anything but the girl sitting next to him. Settling on one of the large windows he glared out, searching for a distraction. He was now cursing his friend Barry to the fiery depths of hell for this whole ordeal. This was after all his fault. It was Barry’s bright idea to “get back out there again”. They sat, waiting for the other to make conversation. He began to tap his fingers on the table to a random rhythm. The girl threw him a sideways glance, probably wondering if he would start a conversation. She smiled at him. Well… it was the definition of a smile, but a definition was all it was. The corners of her mouth pulled up on either side and her teeth were showing. But those corners seemed to strain with the effort to stay up. It seemed as though smiling were also unnatural to her. She moved closer to him, there was almost no room between them now. Discomfort grew more intense within him.
He breathed a sigh of relief as a waitress finally noticed that their table was empty and made her way towards them. She staggered, almost dropping her empty tray but managed to catch herself at the last second. He felt as if he were obligated to give her a gold star from the triumphant look on her face.
“Good afternoon, what will you be having today?” she inquired snarkily, giving him a smirk, as if she though he was going to melt into a puddle at her feet. Although he had to admit, she was attractive. Or well, held some conventional characteristics that most guys his age would find appealing. Blonde hair, tall, thin. Yes, definitely. Too bad he was not most guys. She kept batting her lashes at him though, like some lovesick camel.
“Just a coffee.” He replied bluntly, not sparing her another glance. The girl beside him shot him a pointed look which he interpreted as her order, “She’ll have the same.” he added.
As the waitress clomped away from their table he analysed his surroundings once again. There was another waiter, male. He was stuttering and bumbling over his words as he tried to explain the menu to a group of girls. They were in their mid-twenties. Way out of his league, and they clearly knew it. From the way they were flirting with and giggling at the waiter, he assumed they were trying to get some drinks on the house. One girl placed her hand onto the waiter’s arm as she let out another squeaky laugh. Physical contact. Poor guy, he doesn’t stand a chance. They were good, he’d give them that. They’d probably done this before.
His eyes moved across the room again. Anything to distract him from his own situation. His eyes rested upon a middle aged man who had clearly seen better days. The man sat alone. His slightly balding head nearly sparkled in the sunlight. The man wore a beard that barely passed as fashionable. Combined with his crinkled, stained shirt, this man was aiming for the “rugged’ and “scruffy” look but had pulled off something on the verge of “homeless.” He had clearly separated from his spouse, looking at the way he was actively cyber stalking her social network accounts, exploiting the cafe’s free internet. Also there was the necklace round his neck where two wedding bands hung. However, the way he kept sneaking glances at the young girls on the other table suggested that he was maybe the reason for the separation.
He glanced briefly at the girl. She was still surveying the people. This girl was not at all conspicuous, easily blending into the background. Maybe if he had not been waiting and looking actively for her, as much as he would hate to admit it, he may have missed her too. She was disconcertingly quiet, but there was also an undertone of confidence laying under the surface of her icy disposition.
The sound of yet another limey imported porcelain set kissing the ground made him jump. From the corner of his eye he saw the woman from three tables back lean down, reaching for her bag. The girl suddenly froze, then quickly reanimated."It's time" the girl proclaimed. She abruptly stood up, knocking over her chair. It clashed against the hard floor. He looked up at her at the same time as the old woman.
"What the hell?" He questioned her, alarmed.
"No time" she answered grabbing his arm and shoving him down under the table.
The old woman stood up swiftly. He realised why she had reached for her purse. She grasped a pistol in her bony hands. It was aimed strait him.
"What the hell is going on!!?" He repeated to the girl, afraid now. She grabbed him by the collar and dragged him down when he attempted to crawl out from under the table.
She paid his question no attention. Kneeling down on one knee in front of him, she searched for something in her small bag. A gun. It was a gun.
“Wait! Wait!” he pleaded. She rolled her eyes. Getting onto one knee, the girl swivelled towards the woman and shot.
He jumped and knocked his head on the oak table. "What is going on?"
The old woman's body dropped to the ground while the rest of the cafe panicked and screamed. A few people had retrieved their phones and were now shouting down the line to the police. In the middle of the chaos he looked down to see the dead woman’s blood leaking onto the white floor. The contrast of red and white was nauseating.
"We have to go" she told him, crouching in front of him. When he didn't respond she huffed and glared at him “Oh come on!” she grabbed his arm yanked making him stand.
Keeping hold of his wrist she led him towards the glass doors of the cafe.
"Hold on a minute!" it was the hipster manager who looked as if he was about to faint. She stared him down looking at his moustache and bow tie. She gave him a look. No. She gave him the look. Coughing, the manager quickly averted his glance. But he still refused to move. Her arm thrashed out. The bottom of the gun connected with his temple, knocking him out. She then proceeded to walk over his unconscious body and out the door. Towing him along with her.
Once out the door he shook off her hand, making sure to put some distance between them. “What - is - going - on?” he demanded staring her right in the eye.
"The government have found out about about the program," she answered surveying the various streets the are in front of them.
"What do you mean?" he asked, slightly afraid, looking at all the CCTV cameras that were mounted on the other shops around them. He hoped that the police would see that he wasn’t her accomplice in this, whatever this is. He was the hostage.
"Wait." She stopped suddenly. Her head snapped towards him making him cringe a little under her harsh scrutiny. She paced towards him and took hold of his chin. After looking at his face she moved his face harshly to the left then seem to look at his neck, looking for a mark of some sort. Panic seemed to rise within her. She desperately looked at his neck, grabbing his hair and pulling it to the side in an attempt to find some sort of mark.
"Damn, " she whispered.
Stepping away from him so that there was now two feet apart she raised her arm.
He felt the cold barrel press against his forehead.
"Damn."
