Twenty one years old

I work everyday now, and I do not like it.

I like it better than amusement parks.

Fifty hours a week, complaints about overtime, I am still scheduled for overtime. Wake up at 4:30 AM, return home at 6 PM, after three bus rides and a stare from another man who thinks that I am Easy Meat.

I am no longer an ant surrounded by wasps. There are many bugs in this forest, but they are just as strange as the land of wasps, just in different ways. Today on the bus a man fell asleep and leaned on my shoulder.

I didn’t move until my stop came, nervous about if he would be angry if I woke him up.

The walk back home was the same, the cracks in the sidewalks the same, the neighbors dog was the same. He yipped and yapped, and I liked to scream back. They would bark at you unless you screamed back, and I took the excuse to release my frustrations.

After screaming and being screamed at by various dogs and flustered neighbors, I return home, bored. My $500 a month room, fully equipped with roaches, noises, and no heat is there to greet me.

I worry about what will happen next winter without any heat, but I try not to dwell on it. It’s July.

Everything Is Fine. Stop Asking Me If I’m Alright.

It’s Thursday, so that means I need to take my medication. I will no longer be an ant. I follow all the instructions, and I inject the clear liquid into my stomach. It burns the inside of my body, and I am positive that it is sliding around inside me like a snake.

It is not, but I want to believe.

I decide to go to sleep early, and I want to wake up as something else, but I don’t know what kind of thing I would like to be.

Just not an ant.

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I’m at work, and everything is blue.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

I’m working hard, to get the food out in the drive through on time. I don’t want to mess up. I don’t know what time my shift ends today, but that's okay, I can leave once the rush is over.

I reach down and get a burger, put in a back, give it to my coworker. The beeps get louder, and then stop, and I repeat. Get a burger, put in back, pass on. I stare up at the screen for what is next to come, because it is odd we have gotten the same order twice in a row.

The words are unintelligible.

I look around at my coworkers, the busy bees, to ask for help. None of their faces I recognize, and then I know.

This is a dream.

It had been so long since I had one. Every night was just nothing, and I did not complain. The Many Horrible Things At Night were gone, and I didn’t want to be ungrateful.

I was so happy to have a dream, I didn’t notice that something was wrong. That all their faces were the same. That they walked around, looking like they were working, but not really doing anything.

“Everyone, this is so wonderful,” I shout.

The busy bees all turn to look at me, and want to know what is so wonderful about minimum wage, oil stains, and the beeps they would hear when they close their eyes at night, trying to sleep.

“This is a dream,” I say. “That's so cool! I’ve never been able to do this in a dream before!”

All the sounds stop.

The air is still, and frying turns off. They all drop their bags, and ketchup, ice cream cones and straws. They slide, legs not turning, still in place, and they stare.

I have done something wrong, but I don’t know what I’ve done. Shouldn’t they be happy? This is a dream! We can have so much fun! They disagree.

No one is blinking, and then I notice that all their faces are the same. I feel like I have seen the face somewhere before, but I cannot place it.

When I wake I know it is the face of my bully as a child.

For now I am worried about what I have done. I like my new friends, in this dream, and I want to come back and visit. The Manager comes. The manager is me. She’s angry.

“You need to leave,” The Manager said.

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“You can’t come back here. We’re kicking you out. I’m tired of you.”

The Manager points her large sausage fingers at me, and she doesn’t stop. I stare at it, mesmerized and then everything closes in on her finger.

My point of view changes. I am a bee, and I am flying towards her finger to sting it. I get closer and closer and then-

I woke up.

At least I know I don’t want to be a busy bee anymore.

I stopped taking my medication.