Young Writers Society

Working behind the till at the common garage wasn't his ideal job. Nor were many of the jobs that people have resorted too. It seemed so simple when he was younger: study, learn, work hard and you'd eventually get there. But then again, so many things seemed so easy when you are young. Things weren't the same way anymore. 'Keep your eyes on the prize' he would hear his dad say as he chewed his pencil's rubber off whilst wringing his mind in concentration trying to gauge out the previous day's lesson from the murky waters of his memory. It was hard enough then, and even then all he had to do was to solve calculations and spend mind-numbing hours flipping through textbooks. If only now, emerging into adolescent life, he could have a textbook to read to teach him how to survive in a world like this. If only now, somebody could explain to him the methods to earn money fast, to achieve his dreams. But now, he belonged to the majority of people who slaved away with the patriotic duty to serve a cause that they had never cared for. And he had the patriotic duty of serving diesel and peanut snacks to creepy people in white vans.

"Thank you, sir, and have a nice day." He sighed as yet another customer with a smile that shone just a bit too brightly handed him the change and returned to their car.

Through the grimy window, he could see another driver get out of their vehicle, fill it up and then start to head towards the convenience store. He had a harsh limp and lugged his body laboriously. When he arrived, Thomas could identify what looked like ketchup sprawled down his shirt and could smell beer on his breath as he neared towards the till.

“This, please.” Denying eye contact, the driver placed down a small bottle of water and a pack of paracetamol. Despite the man’s attention focused on his watch, he could see sickly pale skin and tinges of blue and red etched across his face.

“$3.20.” The driver pulled some coins from his pockets, still focused on his watch, and they crumbled from his hand onto the counter.

“Thank you, sir.”

He rushed away to the door and exited the shop. Thomas’ eyes trailed after him and watched him move to his car. He ordered the cash and took up the book that lay face down on the chair next to him. Opening the cover, he flicked through the pages and resumed where he was before. The sky was darkening and the dull breezes that swung the trees indicated evening. Though he had some drivers that stopped by so late, most of the time the parking was barren of cars and the shop empty of customers.

Nobody would ever have known, let alone cared that his true dream was to be a marine biologist. Speculating at the miscellaneous species that lined the thin pages of his book, he found interest in learning about vertebrae and the DNA of sea creatures. His friends had teased him- it was unlike his character of charm and wit. But it seemed to suit him so much, investigating the ocean and unveiling the secrets of the Earth. Maybe, they just didn’t know the real him. Or maybe it really didn’t suit him. He wasn’t even sure what to do with his ambition. He was 21, and maybe it had been too late. He was studying engineering, thanks to his dad’s demands. He had also taken up his job because of him- he hadn’t intended to work at his father’s garage, but hell, he didn’t know what else to do anyway. Engineering was a fine career, but it wasn’t him. It didn’t feel right. He didn’t want to spend his later years fixing cars and engines. Tucking the book away into his bag to leave, he sighed despairingly. The pages ripped against the zip and he quickly mended it with tape. Gathering the rest of his stuff, he exited the till and started his routine check around the shop. His father had told him to do this in case there were any stolen goods, mess that needed to be tidied or even people who ha snuck in there without Thomas looking to stay for the night. It was a small town and with the new mayor, people’s livelihoods were at cost. After his routine checks, he made way for the door.

Tilting his head up to push it open, he could see a figure writhing in the distance. From what he could see, it appeared to be the same man from before. Red liquid spewing from his mouth and veins bulging, his neck cracked and twitched and his body fell in a spasm of pain and inhuman movements. Thomas opened his mouth, horrified from the scene and realised it wasn’t ketchup that was on his shirt. How could he have not known? He was such an idiot, to not realise that this man was in need of help. But why had he spent so long over here? It had been an hour since he served him, it was almost like he was waiting for him- he reflected for a moment, his eyes furrowing in confusion and then rushed to get his phone and dialled 911, his fingers scrambling to find the right numbers. The phone rang and he pressed it to his ear, looking warily at the driver. He knew that he should surely go and help him, but he wasn’t experienced. Why would he be?

“911, how can I help you?”

Deep breaths.

“A.. man. I can’t- he’s. Blood.” The words tumbled from his mouth to create a confused muddle of meaning.

“Could you please tell me your address?” The woman asked patiently, discrete tones of nervousness quivering in her voice.

“Uhh, 346 Close Drive, the garage, and please. Hurry.”

“The ambulance is on its way. Can you please describe his condition?”

“He’s, vomiting blood and he’s out-” A sickening crack cut him short and he dropped the phone. Deaf to the attendant’s voice, he watched the driver staring at him hungrily, licking the blood off his face. The stone-cold glare was like an arrow pierced into his soul, wedging itself into his consciousness. The driver ran forward like a savage animal, flailing its arms about him and gnashing its teeth unpleasantly. It smashed against the door and weakly thrust its body towards it until finally the glass broke sending shards trembling down onto the floor, reflecting on Thomas’ own distraught face, etched with fear. Meeting the person’s eyes, he stood aghast as it began to climb over the door towards him.