The subway bumped and rattled along the tracks, jolting Marvin into the window of the cabin. Glancing at his reflection, the overhead lights flicker. Staring back is a young man wearing a black baseball cap and green bomber jacket zipped up to the neck. Glancing away, his hands grip the hook on his backpack which rests between his knees. Sighing, he turns his eyes to the ceiling. Avoiding the strip of ads had become a necessity lately. When every surface was taken up with demands for his attention, he found it difficult to focus. Particularly vexing were the ads for nicotine products. A core demographic of subway commuters were heavy smokers if the sheer number of vape ads present were any indication.
The brakes squealed and he rocked sideways as the train approached his station. Grabbing a pole for support, Marvin stands up and fights the sleeves of his jacket for a moment while putting his backpack on. The others in the cabin mostly avoided looking at him or anyone else, most glanced at the route map and then back down to their phones. An older couple closer to the doors of the subway were chatting quietly together. Occasionally, a soft chuckle would escape their bubble and travel through the cabin, bringing a smile to those who heard their joy. A smile crested Marvin’s face as he looked away to give them their privacy. I wonder what I’ll have for Lunch? Marvin thought to himself, the hunger pangs from a skipped Breakfast had gradually eased on his journey, settling into a quiet yearning and occasional growl. Finally grinding to a stop, the doors clanked open, and the couple rushed out with Marvin close behind. Those looking to get on the train pushed forward, creating clots of people near every door. Shuffling forward through the mass of shouting bodies, Marvin reached into his pocket and extricated his wallet.
Approaching the turn stiles, he pulls out his bright orange pass and presents it to the scanner. A high-pitched beep and subtle whir of the locks disengaging confirms he has permission to leave. Quickly pushing through, he strides for the stairs out of the crowded station and begins to ascend to street level. About half-way up, Marvin gingerly steps around a drunk man slumped against the wall, brown paper bag held loosely between his knees. Unable to help himself, he looks at the man in passing and sees dirt staining his too thin jacket and holes on the side of his shoes. The sign looped around his neck is a plea for money. The usual guilt and feelings of inadequacy roll through Marvin as he thinks about how close to the line he is too. How close everybody on this staircase were without even realizing it. Reaching the top of the stairs Marvin steps to the side and takes a deep breath. Ignoring the pungent odors of car exhaust, piss, and just a hint of that sweet Mary J. Shaking his head and grinning softly to himself, he walks towards the crosswalk at the end of the street with memories of his failed college days passing through his mind. Avoiding interacting, except for polite nods, with any of the people he shares the sidewalk with. The indicator beeps and the light changes across the wide street to announce to the huddled group that it’s okay for them to cross the street. The honks and shouts from drivers and pedestrians alike combine into a miasma of noise that surrounds and presses in closer than the group he’s crossing with. Grabbing his ear plugs, that he got from his brief stint in construction, out of his pocket he pops them in. Just for some relief from the suffocating ambiance. Stepping back onto the sidewalk, and being jostled by his fellow pedestrians, he continues his walk to work. Checking his phone to see the time he hastens a fraction, so he has time to eat. Probably going to go for a steak quesadilla and some of that hot salsa. Maybe I’ll mix some sour cream to take the edge off the spice. Reaching the front door, he grabs the handle and steps inside. Sighing in relief as the warm air and wonderful aroma of the kitchen encompasses him, he takes his bag off and sets it near an empty table. Not a busy day? Hopefully it lasts. Approaching the counter, a coworker recognizes him.
“Oh! Hey Marvin, same as usual?”
“Yeah, but this time I want a side of the hot salsa and another side of sour cream if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, bold today, are we?” His coworker asks, hands flying through the familiar motions.
“Oh yeah. I’m feeling quite adventurous. Might even get a bag of chips if they were cooked within the last five hours?”
“Well, no luck there bud. The lunch rush wasn’t enough to go through our stock from this morning. Though I can slip you one of the special sodas? I’ll cover it. Thanks again for covering for me last week.”
Stunned for a second at the offer, Marvin looks at his coworker and nods.
“Yeah, I’d love that. Thank you, but you don’t have to.”
“I still owe you a favor, and the soda seems like it’ll set us even.” Putting the lid on the little container of salsa, his coworker looks at Marvin with his eyebrow raised. “Want the pink or the orange one?”
“You know I love that pink shit. What do they call the flavor again? Something like Guava?” Marvin responds, hooking his thumbs in his pockets.
Snorting, the coworker peers at the label “Yeah… looks like it. Never had any guava that tasted like syrup though. You’re crazy for drinking this stuff man.”
“Everybody’s a critic. Thank you, Stephan.” Grinning, Marvin fumbled at his pocket for his wallet.
While the two were working down the line of options and chatting, a customer strolled through the door and up to the starting position. Letting loose a frustrated sigh that set his teeth on edge, and ending their conversation. Stephan winked and labeled his food as chicken. Martia, the cashier, pretended not to notice and the lower total displayed on the card reader. Martia plucked the receipt from the dispenser and tossed it into the garbage and handed him the Guava soda once he’d paid.
“You start in about fifteen minutes right? Would you mind filling up the salsa station before you go back to dish?” Martia asked, already typing in the options the next customer was ordering.
“No problem.” Marvin replied and stepped to the side with his food. Another coworker, Emily, nodded at him while handing over a bag of chips. Walking over to the table closest to the clock-in machine Marvin sat down and enjoyed his meal. Eventually giving in to the sour cream when it got to be too spicy. Belly satiated, he threw away his trash and crossed the threshold between customer and employee. While swiping his employee card, his manager strolled out of the office. Feeling the hair on his neck stand straight up he finished his clock-in procedure. God dammit. Why does Jake have to be the manager tonight?
“Not a minute early as usual. Asheigh called off so can you work tortilla? Jack’s on dish tonight.” Jake nodded to Marvin, his eyebrow raising at the same rate as his clipboard lowered.
“Yeah, that’s fine. If you don’t mind though I’d prefer to close dish tonight. No offense to Jack, but we both know I’m better at that than line.”
“Sorry Marvin, you know the rules. You close what you work. By the way, again, store policy is you start working fifteen minutes before you’re scheduled. Before you start with your usual bullshit about being paid for every minute you’re here, I don’t care. Do it again, and you’re fired.” Grinning, Jake spun on his heel and walked back to his office.
Sighing, Marvin walked to the back and shuffled past Jack. Hanging his coat up on the hook and putting on an apron. Once situated, he shuffled past Jack and sent him a jealous look. Noticing him doing so, Jack grinned and threw a thumbs up before getting back into it. Trudging to his station he felt the spirit of customer service possess his body for another long night.
Several hours later, long after the sun had set, the dining room closed and the team worked to clean up the accrued mess throughout the day. Once the restaurant was closed, everybody stood outside while Jake locked the front doors. Nodding to each other the team headed their own ways. Curiously, Jake followed Marvin. Not getting too close but staying close enough to encourage a conversation. Picking up on the hint Marvin dropped back.
“What’s going on?” he asked. Hands in his green bomber and hat turned forward, shielding his eyes from the harsh streetlights above.
“Nothing much. I just wanted to thank you for covering for Jenny tonight. Management notices the work you’ve been putting in and appreciates what you’ve been doing.” Jake likewise had his hands in his pockets, thumbs pointing towards his belt buckle.
“Oh um… well I’m not doing it to be nice. I just need the money. Let me know if anyone else needs coverage. So long as you let me know a few hours in advance I can be here.”
“Sure thing. Thanks again, have a good night. Don’t be late again.”
Hints and threats delivered, the two parted ways at the intersection. Jake turned left and continued his walk while Marvin pressed the cross button. Once he had permission to cross, he made his way back to the stairs and down to the subway platform. This time with much less human traffic but three more bodies filling stairs. The original still sat there, albeit one brown bag short.
The trip back to his apartment was quiet. Just another Monday night. This had been Marvin’s life for the last three years. Not always with this dead-end job but certainly others. He had never been able to escape his family’s poverty, always watching opportunities slip through his fingers because of things outside of his control. Can’t let my mind wander there. There lies madness. Despite his wishes his mind continued to wander. Opportunities hadn’t slipped through his hands. They were never really offered. His biggest accomplishment had been a college acceptance letter to his dream college, only to be denied student aid because his mother had been dishonorably discharged years before his birth. Promotions had passed him up because he wasn’t the type to play the political game, and better jobs had been filled by people with degrees that he may have had if things had been different. It wasn’t that all of these things were outside of his control. To say that was to indicate that there was any way of controlling the systems that boxed him, and people like him, in. He lived in hell and if things didn’t change soon, would die here. The worst part was that he didn’t even have enough at the end of the day to save up for a way to push forward. His monthly expenses added up to exactly what he made at his three jobs. The only day of the week he had off was a twelve-hour stint on Sundays. He usually went into one of his jobs those evenings to scrounge up a few extra bucks for his disappointing paychecks. It isn’t that I’m not working hard or anything. Opportunities aren’t immediately available for people like me. I just need to find a way to create my own path out. Plans, fantasies, and memories played themselves out and kept him company on the ride, and subsequent walk back.
Finally at his apartment building, he stepped in the front door and crossed to his mail box. Sliding his key into the slot he turned it. The door popped open, and he started sorting through his mail. Trash. Trash. Another advertisement. That’s a nice coupon though I think napkins are already that price so not really a deal. Oh look, another bill. Another, another, finally another book of advertisements. Throwing away the junk mail he turned around and started up the stairs to his apartment, the bills in hand making every step that much heavier. Panting, he made it to the top of the third floor and took a deep breath. Seems like his neighbor, Sandra, had been cooking again. The intoxicating fumes permeated the hallway. Nearly overpowering the cigarettes, never-vacuumed-hallway and cheap paint stench. Stepping up to his door he inserted his key and stepped through the dark portal. Ending yet another meaningless day and heralding his hobby. More like homework. He thought to himself. Walking over to his desk and pulling out the chair. He sat down and pulled the chain on his rescued-from-an-antique-store lamp. There, illuminated by the lamp, was his recent fascination. A book by Peter Kropotkin titled ‘The Conquest of Bread.’ Opening the cover, he began to read. Taking detailed notes of his thoughts and questions as he did so. Eventually, he set down his pencil and walked the few feet to his fridge. Pulling out a leftover burrito, removing the tin foil, and setting it in the microwave. While that did its magic he leaned on the counter. Taking in his sparsely furnished apartment and thinking about how close to the edge of financial ruin he was. Seventy hour work weeks were squeezing everything out of him and he only had enough to scrape by and occasionally splurge on a used piece of Ikea furniture. Or as of late, empty notebooks, pencils, and a bookshelf he had been saving for. On its shelves held three such notebooks filled with his writing and covered in color-coded sticky tabs to mark pages Marvin thought were important or less so. Beside them, laying on their faces, was a stack of crisp notebooks still in their plastic sheathes. The shelf at head height held pictures of Marvin with his immediate family. One photo lay facedown next to a police report that Marvin still could not bring himself to throw away or read again. The pain of its contents enough to fill him with lead and close off his throat. The beeping of the microwave pulled him back and he scarfed down the half-burrito. Walking back to the desk he sat down and began again. His alarm went off and he finished his thoughts. Dating his writing and turning to the next fresh page. Looking back at his most recent literary journey, he placed the library receipt on his current page.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
I could get away with a few more pages? The steady tapping of his pencil against the desk marked the intensity of his internal justifications. Coming to a disappointing conclusion, he reached up to the chain on his lamp and tugged it. Standing back up in the dark, he started to make his way to the bathroom to begin his nightly routine. Shower, shave and brush his teeth. As he reached towards the light switch in his bathroom, a translucent orb slid from the top left to the bottom right of his vision. The edges glowed a faint green before it faded into invisibility. A sharp pain accompanying it’s appearance. Marvin froze, his mind reeling and eyes swinging around the room trying to focus on the strange object. Flicking on the light he rushed the mirror and started inspecting his eyes, looking for anything that could be lodged under an eye lid. I can’t afford an emergency room bill right now. Please be nothing. He stilled his vision and tried to focus on the area in both eyes that he had seen the object stop and disappear at. Seeing nothing in his left eye, he looked in his right. Maybe I just imagined it? I am tired - his focus was pulled away from his eye against his will. An alien feeling of annoyance flashed through his mind and the orb flashed once more. His body froze and without his direction straightened and turned around to face the wall. What the fuck just happened? Marvin thought. Risking reprisal, he slowly turned back around to face the mirror again. Leaning back in, he pulled open the eyelid on his right eye and focused on the area again. The circle flashed blue twice, and a feeling of rage inundated his senses. An intense headache overcame his being and the sphere was illuminated in red. The feeling of a fresh paper cut scraped its way through his mind. Locking up once again, he felt himself pushed out of his own body. His limbs carried him to the couch before unceremoniously falling into it. His eyes were closed, his body still, and he was slammed back into his unconscious body. He was fed a dream. In it, the contents of the police report on his bookshelf were displayed in the same cold, clinical, tone of police officers. Their attention to detail industriously sharp and bland as to lull the reader into not experiencing the horrors it described. A semi losing control on the highway and killing tens of motorists. Figure 3C displayed an image of a crushed vehicle. The coroner’s report detailed, in the same dry indifference, the names of his mother, father and brother. ‘Deceased.’ It read in bold. He felt his mind stutter and grind along these familiar tracks.
The hours pass with Marvin tossing and turning before his alarm blares through his apartment. Waking up, the first thing he notices is the noise outside his apartment. Not unusual for a Tuesday morning, what with the neighborhood getting ready for school. Cracking his eyes open he sat up and rubbed the grit from them. His back popped like a glowstick from the couch’s rough treatment. Not the first time he’d fallen asleep here, probably wouldn’t be the last. At least the couch cushions didn’t leave bruises. Standing up, he walked to the cabinet that held his snack foods. Reaching in he grabbed a granola bar and threw the wrapper away. Sitting back on the couch, he grabbed the remote and turned the channel to CNN to catch up on anything new.
‘Breaking news: Visual Hallucinations Confirmed’ read the ribbon on the bottom of the screen. His mind was flooded with the memory of what happened last night. Pushing the memory aside, he turned the volume up so he could hear it over the roaring in his ears. He felt his mind stir. The alien presence making itself known.
“We don’t know what it is. Reports of deaths and head trauma are flooding in from most hospitals across the country. The White House made a statement advising citizens to ignore the strange sphere until more information is available.” The host read from the teleprompter. Turning to the guest the host asked “Do we have any theories about what is happening? Is it the end of the world? Aliens?”
Sitting behind the desk with her palms pressed together the older woman clasped her hands and looked at the camera. “It’s probably not anything too serious. We don’t know what it is but another statement from the White House is scheduled for this evening at nine PM eastern standard time.”
Taking a second to respond, the host looks at his guest and taps his finger against the desk. “Do you have any theories or anything else to add? Hundreds of people have died within the last twelve hours. How can this not be serious?”
The woman sat back and looked at her clasped hands again. Blowing out her cheeks she releases her hands and gestures indecisively, “I only saw it for a second. I was finishing up some paperwork at the office and suddenly this… orb flies across my eyes and flashes green before disappearing. When I tried to look at it again it flashed blue twice and then red. The next thing I know, I’m dreaming about how my wife died. Whatever it is, it scares me. If there’s any advice I can give, don’t look at it. The blue flashes seem to indicate a warning and red a punishment. The number of blue flashes seems to indicate the severity of ‘punishment’.“ Once she finished speaking, the woman froze up and looked at the camera. Face pale and lips quivering.
“What do you mean? Is this an anecdotal experience or is this based off the survey you completed?” The host questioned.
“It just flashed ten ti-“ She didn’t get to finish. Her head snapped back so her chin was pointed to the roof. Arms flashing out to either side before snapping at the elbows in the wrong direction. A wet scream left her mouth as the host rushed to her side to try to help. Before he got to her side, his head and arms did the same. A riot of screams filled his apartment before the screen abruptly changed to a screen that read ‘We are currently experiencing technical difficulties.’
The television went dark. The sound of the building’s air conditioning shutting down left a yawning silence. Frowning and standing back up, Marvin crossed to the window behind his desk. Looking out at the city below. Cars weren’t moving, streetlights were off, and drivers were getting out of their cars yelling. The sounds of their frustration traveled up to him. Uh… What just happened? He thought to himself. Backing up, he put himself in his bathroom and started to hyperventilate. The memory of last night and what he saw on the television replaying over and over. The yelling from down below got louder, slowly bringing Marvin out of his stupor. Sweating and with shaking hands Marvin landed on his knees in front of the toilet and began to retch while the panic grew behind his eyes. Coloring every thought and sensation with a feeling of imminent death. After several moments the retching stopped, and Marvin flushed the toilet. Leaning his back against the tub he slid down and stared at the ceiling. It took everything Marvin had to not look in the bottom right of his vision where the orb had been resting since last night.
A rapid staccato began at the door. Urgent but not rough, a fast inquiry. Do I go to the door? Do I hide? he thought. The knocking continued until he grabbed a hand towel from the basket on the toilet water basin. He wiped his face and walked to the front door. Glancing out the peep-hole he sees Sandra looking up and down the hallway frantically. Unlocking his door and opening it he starts to ask what’s wrong but Sandra interrupts with a panicked exhalation of words.
“The powers out and I think there’s something wrong with my mom. Please help us, she’s on a respirator and we need to use a hand pump to keep her breathing.”
Marvin nods after a moment and, eager for a distraction, plucks his keys from the bowl. “I’ll need to come back soon. I need to get ready for work.” Closing the door behind him he locks it and follows behind Sandra. The low light in the hallway, cheap carpet pattern and chipping paint combine to push his suppressed panic even higher. Their quick pace down the hallway to her apartment left the trip short and without space for more words. Coming into the apartment he saw an older man working a hand pump, steady motions keeping the system running.
“We have some leftovers if you want some. In ten minutes can you switch with my dad? I’m going to get more help!” flew out in a rush before the door closed again.
“Name’s William but you can call me Bill. Leftovers are in the fridge. Don’t eat the lasagna though. That’s mine.”
“Marvin. Thanks.” Walking over to the fridge he grabbed a Tupperware container filled with spaghetti. “Where’s the –“
“Forks on your left, right of the sink.”
“Oh, thanks.” Sitting down at the bar Marvin twirls the fork in the cold spaghetti. The steady sound of the hand pump filling the silence between them.
“Do you know anything about the-“
“Don’t talk about it. Stay quiet.” Bill interrupts. Several minutes pass like this before Bill grunts to get his attention.
“Know how to work this pump?” Bill asks, continuing his rhythmic ministrations.
“Not really. I think I’ve got the gist from watching you, can you correct me as I go?”
“Good. Not afraid to not know something but willing to try anyway. Sure thing.” Handing the device over Bill explained how the apparatus worked while Marvin got the timing right. The respirator next to him continued to fill and empty the woman’s lungs. Settling into a rhythm he and Bill chatted about anything other than what was on their minds with Bill correcting when Marvin got the timing off. Around half-way through his ‘shift’ when the conversation lulled Marvin asked.
“What’s her name?”
Sitting silently, Bill’s eyes roamed around the room before settling on the woman’s face. “Her name is Ellie. Before you ask, this is a recent development for her. It started a few weeks ago and then well… she had a stroke. The doctors expect her to recover. This is just… this is the hard point. The start of the path up the mountain of recovery. She’s listening to us right now, by the way.”
Stunned for a moment Marvin kept his hands moving along the required motions. He turned his head to look at Ellie. Taking note of the slight twitching of her lips. “Hi Ellie, I’m Marvin. It’s nice to meet you, I live down the hall from Sandra.” Feeling a little awkward, Marvin flicked his eyes to Bill to see if he was doing something wrong. To his surprise Bill was beaming at him, a large grin filled his face. A comfortable silence began and ended when the egg timer ,marking the end of his shift, began to ring. Continuing to work the pump, Bill came over and gently took it from Marvin’s hands.
“It’s my turn. Thank you for helping by the way. Sandra has been gone for a while so I’m sure plenty of people have decided to hunker down. Would you mind looking for her? I’m getting a little worried. Try to come back soon, my hands aren’t as strong as they once were.” Bill winked at Marvin and settled down to his labor.
“That’s a good idea, it has been a little while. Do you think she went upstairs or down?” Marvin asked, shoveling the rest of the spaghetti into his mouth.
“She likes to do things as efficiently as possible. She went to the top floor first.” Bill responded, his face watching over Ellie, a small smile still gracing his features. Nodding, Marvin places the dishes into the sink and grabbed the egg timer, turning to eight minutes.
“In eight minutes I’ll make my way back here. I don’t have a key to lock this behind me… will that be an issue do you think?”
“It’ll be fine. Neighbors aren’t something you need to worry about son. When you find Sandra tell her to make her way back here to lock up. Hurry on now.”
Closing the door behind him, Marvin turned down the hall towards the main staircase, listening to see if he could hear Sandra knocking on doors. While the building was quiet, it wasn’t enough to hear through several different floors. The occasional excited shout from a kid and parent helped to fill the void he was feeling. Shaking his head at his own silliness he began to ascend the stairs. His right hand glided up the pitted banister that had gotten the landlord special. A coating of cheap white paint coated the walls as he climbed. The cheap lights in the stairwell were off but the windows at each landing provided enough natural light to see by. Though the long shadows that were cast didn’t help to ease the anxiety that was still building up in his chest. Maybe I should have had Bill lock the door? I should try to hurry. This thought led him to skip a stair each step. Stopping at the next floor he looked down the hallway and didn’t see her so he continued to the fifth floor. When he reached the landing, he looked down the hallway and saw Sandra talking with someone through a crack in the door. Not wanting to interrupt, Marvin waited. Eventually, the door opened the rest of the way and a man and a woman stepped out. Smiling brightly, she motioned to them to follow her. Turning around to walk down the stairs next to Sandra, he filled her in on how it was going and that Bill wanted her to come back. Sandra nodded, picked up her pace, and kept going. Once everyone was inside Sandra’s apartment, Marvin took out the egg timer and added an extra two minutes and moved to sit next to Bill, ready to start back on the pump when it was his time. Sandra filled in the two people who had followed her on Ellie’s condition and what they would be helping with. A round of introductions followed with the woman being Jaclyn and the man was her teenage son Tony.
“Did you guys see the news?” Tony hesitantly asked, eyes darting around the room and shoulders slumped like he was trying to make himself as small as possible.
“Yes. We all saw what happened. We aren’t talking about it.” Bill replied. Eyes fixing firmly on everyone in the room, waiting for a nod of agreement from each. Tony made himself even smaller and moved behind Jaclyn. The silence stretched until the egg timer rang, marking the beginning of Marvin’s turn. Once he started, Bill showed the other two what he was doing and explained how it worked. Occasionally correcting Marvin when his pace started to slow down.
I’m not going to work today. There’s no power, so no food. These people also need my help. Marvin thought to himself as time stretched on and the atmosphere began to lighten up.