Spring Roll

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
First short story I've ever really gotten into. Read for yourself! Tell me what you think!

Submitted: January 10, 2011

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Submitted: January 10, 2011



He sat down in the corner booth, tapping the tips of his jagged, mauled fingernails on the cheap plastic table cloth. There she was, dressed in her black slacks, the crisp white undershirt, and that black vest. He despised that black vest. You couldn't see the blood through it. Wait--what blood? Was he going crazy? He was at his usual lunchtime stop: the always tasty but afterward very, very disappointing. Chinese.

“Drink?” She asked him with a hint of annoyance in her voice. She pulled out her cheap black pen and tattered order booklet and waited. She clicked the end of the pen. Not once mind you--he noticed this. He loathed this. Every day she clicked the same damn pen. Click-click-click. “Drink, Sir?” “Water. Water for Christ sake. Just how hard is your damn job anyway? You take my drink order and bring me some silverware; its a buffet!” Naturally the only words that left his mouth were: “Water please.” His mind was literally exhausted. It was in a state of pure agony. The voices of hundreds of customers filled his head; arrogant, inconsiderate, loud-mouthed and picky voices. The life of a customer service desk employee. “Yes Sir, our mistake. More like you're mistake. Shouldn't have bought the piece of junk to begin with. And you know what else-” What was that? Oh, that's right, a simple: “Our mistake.”

Oh and today was complete turmoil. Day after Christmas. Why were department stores even open? The sheer thought of having to put back on that dreadful service apron stained with blood. Blood? Where were these thoughts coming from? He brushed them off again.

The water was finally here. Took her long enough. You'd think she had to walk across the street; one glass at a time. She sat the glass down; he still hadn't gotten anything to eat yet. By now he would usually be on his second trip back for another spring roll. Those were the only things that kept him sane on days like today. He reached for the water, his throat unbearably dry, it felt like their were razor blades in his throat. He could almost taste the blood in his mouth, seeping down the back of his throat, trickling down and attempting to ease the dryness that had set up shop in his throat. He brought the water to his lips, taking a sip. Relief. He brought his eyes up, his thin lips still touching the edge of the glass. An ornamental fan was strung up on the wall. Two tigers, laying side by side in a field. There were a few pedals from a cherry blossom shown falling down onto their shoulders. He couldn't help but notice that they turned from their peaceful pink to a more reddish hue. He blinked hard, but the red only grew darker. Blood. There was blood running down the shoulders of the tigers, and it looked fresh; like it had just been sprayed onto the image. Something in his mind snapped, he threw the glass across the room, shattering it on the fan before him. It sent glass spiraling out of control through the restaurant. The light caught each piece and sent small rays throughout the area. A woman screamed in utter shock. He stood up, reached into his coat and grabbed the pistol. He was looking at the waitress who wore that dreaded black vest. That horrible black vest. Soon, it wouldn't matter that she wore black. Soon it would be coated with the same red that dripped from the shoulders of the tigers. Those damn tigers that had sent him over the edge. He raised the gun, his finger experiencing a moment of pure ecstasy as it began to squeeze ever so gingerly at the trigger. A small grin, one that you see on the face of someone who has finally gotten the best of someone; someone who has finally gotten exactly what they want; fell across his face. His knuckle folded, the trigger fell under its pressure. The inside of the gun began its clockwork regimen of sending its message to the recipient and-- He sat the water down, grabbed his silverware, and went looking for his spring roll.

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