a/n: Idk what this is and if there will be more, but I’m posting it so.
cold isn’t the word to describe the chill caressing your bones. not even fucking close. freezing, could be decent enough but still, not really. you don’t want to walk to catch the train, you’re begging God to miraculously will a bus to course this street or your friend Tristan to have worked a late shift, but you face a truth harder and colder than the 5 AM air: he never takes the night shift. It’s always something about the uneasiness that creeps up his spine when someone walks through the entrance past 4 AM. Is it illegal to crave a short stack at that hour?
the trek is just as creepy as it was yesterday, and the 3 years before that you’ve been working at the mom and pop diner and taking the late night shifts. the journey never changes, just the amount of death you wish upon yourself between the change of seasons. “goodnight Melina, see you Monday.” you call behind you, exiting the back door. the dark alley set before you sent a whole new line of chills up your spine. mom always warned you that the dark can be murderous.
the memory of her vice-like grip that used to run through your hand as she picked you up late from the babysitter when you were little, always tingled when you walked someplace shrouded in black. It was like she was there with you, without the embarrassing “be careful, baby!” she’d shout after you if you’d stray a little too far. she knew you’d be fine. you were just like her in every way, so she was never scared for you.