Cyclepath

The light drained from the sky, mountains, trees, buildings, and the sea, opening the portal of night with orange hues gradually darkening to black. The lights of man twinkled on one by one across homes, buildings, and streets just as the stars dotted the black sky.

I didn’t see the weekday sunset as usual. Instead I imagined its descent and the rising of nightfall’s dark chest everyday as I finished my calls for the night. I was sitting in one cubicle of many with high gray walls supposedly there to keep us from being distracted by each other.

Honestly it was there to keep us from looking at the sadness nestled in our eyes and etched into crevice of the wrinkles beneath them. If you stared, it’d uncloak the soul. Soul searching meant you’d come to your senses about how pathetic it was to work here. It was so bad I didn’t tell anyone what I really do to make a buck. I’ve got to make a living with my mediocre skills after all and it wasn’t my fault people were so gullible. I still can’t believe people still fall for the bullshit my company does. What I do.

I always ask myself if I work for the devil. Almost all of us do so maybe I shouldn’t feel bad because my boss-devil was less covert. At least my denial wasn’t so bad.

After my final call, I inhaled and exhaled bottom deep, trying with absolute daily fail to release the god awful feeling wringing my heart dry. Whatever the afterlife was about won’t go well for me, but at least it was Friday. At least I could enjoy two days of most weeks, but was it really enjoyable? I’d drink to forget the week only to forget what stupid thing I did on my miniature free time.

I’m running out of the best years of my life and I can’t figure out why anyone wants to live beyond them.

“Jesus Christ, stop thinking so fucking much, Trini. You’re like the feeling you get when you’re coming down with something in a really bad way,” my best friend and roommate said after I told her of my recurring existential woe when we got home. She faked a quick gag. “You’re prematurely killing my vodka buzz. We’ll have all the time when we’re old to think, but let it not be about regrets. Put on something slutty and let’s go. You just need some male attention and shots to get your mind off these things,” she added cheerfully, though it sounded more like a mantra she told herself.

We both worked at the same soul chaining place. I couldn’t believe I was the only one who felt like this, but it seemed so. “You’re probably right,” I lied with a smile. This was our weekly routine and I just needed to follow it, follow through with the usual. It gave me false hope and that was enough because I kept going.

Deep down I hoped for a change, but it hadn’t come so far. I imagined I’d find my future husband, a million dollars, and/or see or hear something that would unravel life altering changes in my life. I needed a back breaking shove, but I didn’t know why I kept believing I’d find it in the club or at work, maybe at Starbucks or down the alcoholic beverages section of the supermarket.

It had been umpteenth years of the same old thing, but still I hoped tonight was the night. It just had to be, but if not, I’d try again next week.