This Is Going To Be A Rocky Do-Over

Are these the last moments of my life...? These are the thoughts of someone who has not experienced death yet. But sitting in this car on my lunch break—these are the thoughts I wish I was having. Though it's not pertaining to my final breath, I feel these words still hold some meaning for me. Anyone in my position would feel this way, would they not? I'm uneducated, haven't touched a woman's body in years, and I still live with my parents. I know what you're thinking. What a loser. At first, I didn't see what other's saw. In my eyes, I was the funny guy who was easy on the eyes and took a shower more frequently than any of the other coworkers. Unfortunately, there is one thing every young person seems to forget about: time never stops. Everyone grows older, and while some might try surgeries, cosmetics and exercises to keep up appearances, but it's all a cover up; a lie to hide the truth from themselves. Thus, my issue stood displayed for everyone to see. I never hid. Now I'm thirty-five, and while I've been using the economy as an excuse to continue living with my parents up till this point, that vail was growing thin, for both them and those around me. "If you don't get off your ass and start helping out around here, your on the street!" My mother's words haunt me. At one point, they thought was beginning to keep me up at night. So after explaining to several interviewers that the gap in my resume came from many sickly years, I finally landed something suitable. I've had several part-time jobs throughout the years, but never anything steady. They all try to work you too the bone and punish you when you don't do as they say. But this one isn't too hard and anytime they ask me to push myself to do more, I just ignore them and move at the same speed I always had. I should've known this work ethic would have it's repercussions eventually. Recently, the staff has been digging into my personal life and have determined for themselves that I'm a loser. Harsh coming from a bunch a hypocrites wearing the same vests. I've been shoved, called names, and even abandoned at my workstation without assistance. These may sound like petty complaints until context is given. Shoved off of ladders and into shelves that have been rigged to collapse. Insulted by both customers and coworkers in a constant barrage to where it impedes my thoughts. Abandoned with duties that are not only my own, but every other person in the store. I've complained to human resources, but the investigation always comes back without concrete evidence even after providing personal recordings. Someone is protecting everyone else. You'd think after all the belittlement, they'd just fire me... but it seems someone is protecting my employment as well. This is some sick joke to them. You'd also think after everything, I'd just quit. However, quitting is as good as becoming homeless, my mother has already declared as much, and while my parents take most of my paycheck as rent, at least I still have a room with all of my hobbies still available to me to escape this never ending nightmare. Out on the street, I wouldn't even have that. Picking up my phone, the play button on the movie I'd paused lit up. But then... three heavy knocks stop my thumb just as I'm about to connect it with the screen. "You're break is over, dickless. Get back to the counter!" my manager shouts from outside the passenger side glass. I double check the clock and sure enough, she's right on the money. My little time for serenity has ended. Damn woman is timing me. # This cheap table surface is getting the better of me today. It's the grain... it has to be. Something about the texture or the pattern of imperfections. I've been looking at it for a year now and it never changes, so why today is it different. But then the realization set in. Maybe it's not the counter that's different. "Is it just me, or is it surprisingly dead today?" I speak as if someone is there, but there isn't, typical. But I don't need a response, I know I'm right. There isn't a customer in sight, no freight pallets being set in front of me, nothing. We're the busiest store in this entire city, we're never this empty. "Maybe it's not the counter itself, but the entire day that is a bit off?" But that can't be the case. Today has been the same hellish day it's always been up until I came back from break. That's when it sounded off... a chime. But this isn't just any chime, I know this exact tone, I remember every little millisecond of it's recording. It's the sliding door jingle to alert the employees to an incoming customer. "Hello, welcome to—" She's beautiful. My heart's fluttering and it refuses to stop. Why? I watch all sorts of people walk in and out of those doors every single day. There are always the tall ones, short ones, young ones, old ones, every type of human being you can imagine passes my view here... but this one... Why won't my heart stop fluttering? Her long black hair flowed in the cool conditioned air as she entered. The pink top hugged her stomach, but her white skirt danced as she strolled. If she's not a runway model or a movie star, the industry is missing out on this one. But that's when her stride stopped. She is now standing directly in front of me, her head swiveling like an owls. Wait... is she smiling at me? She is, and now she's approaching me. Will she yell at me? Is her plan to demand something of me? Why isn't someone else here to deal with this? "Um, excuse me. Does Deen work back here?" Ah... I see. Deen is one of the leaders in the warfare against me. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was probably the one who dug up the information about me. What I wouldn't give to get back at— "Um... excuse me?" "Oh, yes! I'm sorry for the trouble. He does work in this department. Please give me a moment to give him a call." I did as I said. Of course someone like her would be looking for a guy like him. It seems the good looking ones never know what to look for in a man... or maybe he's actually a really nice guy outside of this hell hole. After all, most work environments can turn the most relaxed individual irrate. I just wish it wasn't against me... "Ah! Katie, you came to see me at work? That's sweet of you, babe. Let me grab my lunch." Wait... does he not see it? Something's off. This girl's face turned totally sour after me entered the room. There's no way she's here for a lunch social. Wait... what's the in her— "Deen... I've seen them. The photos on your phone. You left your cloud account logged in on my laptop. Who are all those nudes for, honey? And the pictures of women, those aren't my breasts, they're all different sizes after all. Who's are they, Deen." "Katie... what are you—" "I don't want excuses! I want an execution for your crimes against me!" The knife appeared in a flash of reflected ceiling fixtures. She lunged, but I had already moved in. I gripped her wrists with the strength of an alligators jaw. "Get out of her, Deen. Call the police or something." Of course, he did as I said, probably not because I said, but because he feared the woman gunning for his life. Hold on... why am I doing this? He's never done anything for me. On the contrary, he's inconvenienced me at every possible step... so why? Is it because it's the right thing to do? Or do I possibly have a heroes soul and just enacted on my instinct. It seems I may never know. While I may have gripped her with the strength of a prehistoric predators jaws, I do not have such strength to maintain such a grasp. My hands are slipping... That's when my pants did the thing they do when someone is scarred beyond their handling: they grew warm. But is it from the freshly released piss, or the red liquid flowing from the metal that's protruding from my abdomen. I wonder... Lucky for Deen, it seems the woman has ran off. Lucky for me, but not so lucky for me. These thoughts of mine grow dimmer by the second. I contemplate what use they were anyway as my memory follows them into darkness. Yet... one last sentence was able to conjure itself amongst the blankness. Are these the last moments of my life...? # Huh... I'm alive? I don't here any sirens or monitors beeping. As a matter of fact, the echoes the surrounded my being didn't resemble any familiar interior at all. Do I hear birds chirping? I try and try, but I can't seem to feel even an inch of my body. The only conclusion is that woman, Katie, must've had either really good aim and has paralyzed me from head to toe, or the tip of the knife was dunked in some kind of debilitating poison. Whatever the case, I'll need to get to the hospital soon, or I might actually die. Plus this chirping is growing infuriating, it sounds like it's inside of my head. Stupid bird, get off of me! Huh... it seems I can't speak either, this is quite the predicament... Wait... is this bird pecking me?! What the hell?! Buzz off —Defense Raised— —New Skill— —Self-awareness— AH!!! More than anything else, I wanted to jump out of my skin with that shout, but I really can't move an inch. Who was that? The sounded more in my head than the bird did. Wait... skill? Self-awareness? The moment I thought about it, I could feel something inside me begin to radiate. The sensation seems akin to something like a door opening, but only if I was the door. But that's when it happened... a new sensation started to grow within. I can see again, but it's almost like the outer body experience people describe while lucid dreaming. But what is it I'm seeing? Is that the ground? It's kind of yellowish brown, almost like a cliff side. Oh! And there's that stupid bird, it's pecking at a rock. —Defense Raised— Wait... I'm a rock?!?!?!