Greed

Max Cobalt laid sprawled on the tattered, worn-out mattress, his skinny pale frame seemingly weightless on top. The scent of mildew lingering in the air like a cheap mall perfume. His room had a shrine of decay, that gave witness to the plethora of clutter scattered around his room. A thin wisp of crack smoke curled around him, casting a ghostly silhouette on the cracked ceiling. Corded Earbuds, worn and frayed, pumped tunes from a heavy rock band that blasted into his ears—a desperate attempt to drown out the strings of his thoughts. A faded photograph in a chipped copper frame caught Max's gaze on the dresser. The sepia-toned photo captured a moment of fleeting joy – Max's parents frozen in smiles that seemed to mock his present struggles. His dad had lost a battle with cancer a year back. At age 54, Courtesy of 4 packs of Morley cigarettes a day. Leaving Max with medical bills and funeral expenses that were now piled on the kitchen table. Thoughts of his father's detachment lingered, a pain that cut deeper with every passing day. They never had the smoothest father-son relationship. Donnie Cobalt, a man of a different era. Couldn't fathom Max's rock band semantics or the rebellious attire that screamed of youthful defiance. They were like two puzzle pieces forced into a weird fit, distant and out of sync. Talking to his dad about his reality? Forget it. He wouldn't get Max's passion to become a rock singer. It was just more noise after a long day's work. Max had created classics on his karaoke tape player. With Songs like, Cindy, I miss you and hope you're waiting in heaven. Dedicated to a mom he never really knew. She died while giving birth to him. Something Max felt his father never forgave him for. The picture was only a reminder of Donnie Cobalt's raspy, gritty voice to ditch his dreams and face life head-on. The blazing Trance of numbness was abruptly shattered by a persistent knocking, a rash reminder of the world outside his room of despair. “Hello are you in there” yelled Wendy. Reality hitting him like the bass from a drum– he hadn't gone to work yet, and his girlfriend was pounding at the front door. Max slumped out of bed, as he struggled to free himself from the hold of his drug-induced haze. Wendy's knocks reverberated through the apartment, punctuating the heaviness that hung in the air. Beating threw Max's head like a drum set. He groaned. Heading towards the front of the apartment. Peeping through the mangled blinds. Wendy stood there, folding her arms in a light blue crop top and neon orange spandex. Her brunette hair wrapped in a ribbon ponytail. He could feel the agitation in her eyes. Opening the rusty handle. Max squinted against the sunlight in his somber, shaded underwear. She erupted into a one-sided argument. “Max! You didn't hear me knocking! What the f**k were you doing back there, and how come you aren't at work.” Wendy continued. Shoving Max to the side to enter the lackluster apartment. Where her long list of complaints begin again. “Seriously, Max? You act like you're the only one going through some s**t! My parents won't even give me any money. Cause they know we're together. I gave up everything for you.” I hear you, Wendy. Max replied. She continued. “And money's disappearing faster than you can print it, with your little drug habit. Quit the excuses, Max. Take responsibility for once! Our time's running out, and you're too busy getting high to see it.” Her voice like a dissonant whining in the background of Max hastily throwing on clothes. “Uh-huh. I get it, Wendy.” He repeated as he threw the lime green, white and brown Thrifty Mart shirt over his head. His black gothic hair fraying as he did it. “I'll fix it, Wendy. I promise” he muttered. As he headed for the door. She closely followed him. A step right behind his mud-stained sneakers. “Are you going to take care of this too, Max! “ The turning point arrived with a snatched paper from the door. Shoving it in his face. An eviction notice, a grim harbinger of impending doom, taped on the entrance—a silent testament that debt was consuming his life. Max rambled through the kitchen drawer, desperately searching for his keychain. As Wendy went on. A palpable echo of a relationship strained to its breaking point. “Where's the rest of it!” Wendy hissed with annoyance. He knew the rest of his stash would be gone by the time he got home. Then, throwing his Thrifty Mart lanyard around his neck, he replied. “It's in the bedroom on the dresser. Attempting a peck on the cheek, that was met with a cold, unwavering glare from Wendy Hartman. As the charcoal front door slammed in his face. The reluctant growl of his dad's battered burgundy Chevy echoed through the air. As Max turned the key in the ignition. Between the residue of cigarette ashes and stained seats. Roaches seemed to have missed their cue to carry it away. He swerved down the street. Weaving through traffic. While blaring Ronnie Blaze 9.01, a heavy metal rock station that seemed to ease his mood. Navigating the dilapidated vehicle to Thrifty Mart—a place where time seemed to stand still in a perpetual limbo of monotony. A small thrift store in town, was Max's workplace – a space filled with donated items that were often barely worth keeping. The store held a unique charm for bargain hunters seeking treasures amid the usual trash. Max despised everything about it, from the peculiar items to the meager pay. The burgundy Chevy sputtered into the parking lot, Max put out his cigarette, spraying some value lemon mist in a futile attempt to mask the smell. Straightening up his work cap. He closed his sun visor mirror and headed in the dreadful double doors. Trevor B Magnolia, the store's ostensible overseer, welcomed Max with thinly veiled admonishment for being three minutes late. The reproach felt disproportionate, as if time conspired against Trevor's meticulous agenda. Thinning hair hinted at anxiety, his stocky figure a mix of brawn and bureaucracy. Despite a paunch from office snacks, an air of authority surrounded him. Glasses perched precariously on his nose served as tools of discernment and shields for calculated glances at Max. Engulfed in daily operations, Trevor effortlessly juggled responsibilities, his attention dancing between Max and the ceaseless conveyor belt—a choreography of managerial finesse. Max was met with disapproving stares from ms. Whitley and Tod. Two other ass kissing employees that worked the registers upfront. “ Mr. Cobalt, why are you three minutes late? Traffic, Mr. Mongolia. It won't happen again. I know it won't…. Because next time, it's the unemployment line for you. And, we can't have that, now, can we? Now get to work! We've got some thrilling new merchandise that just came in. Tod smirked at his antics, continuing his work. While Ms Whitley shook her head in disapproval. The store was packed. Though well understaffed, it attracted different customers from all over the town of Coven Cross. They sought deals amid the used musty socks and premium black-and-white TVs missing buttons. Mr. Mongolia was too cheap to hire anyone else. There were only 5 employees, including Max. Sure, there was a custodian named Mike, but he wasn't an employee. Plus, they barely ever saw him. He was only hired to clean the store on the weekends. The allure of Thrifty Mart lay in its promise of affordability, even if it compromised health. Thrifty Mart only sold items “as is," a policy that turned every purchase into a gamble. No returns. Ever. You might as well have made a deal with the devil. But who was Max to say. He just worked there. Rebecca, a rare glimmer of warmth in Max's otherwise dull routine, approached from behind. She had snuck into the back storage room. Undetected by Mr. Mongolia. Her hair pent-up in a bob. Her bangs complementing her soft Hispanic features. Putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Surprised, he removed his ear buds then greeted her with a smile. Stopping his task to load boxes into an empty shopping cart. Is everything alright? Rebecca asked concerned. Yeah, just life. Max replied. She giggled. Then whispered. “ I tried to cover for you, I told Mongolia you were stuck in the bathroom. I knew you would go with something like that. She smirked. Her genuine concern cutting through the corporate facade. Trevor's polite veneer quickly crumbled, revealing a disdainful authoritarian beneath his chipper attitude. As he walked pass them talking in the isle. He jolted. “Chatting is for slackers and bums. These shelves aren't going to stock themselves. And Rebecca, some customers need assistance on isle 12. He frowned at max. While Rebecca swiftly walked away… to assist the waiting customers…. A dusty ruffled prom dress, a cracked etch a sketch and a disguise set complete with googly eyes. He pondered after opening the box with a box cutter. Who would ever want this crap. Time crept by as Max mechanically stocked shelves. His mind went blank again. A revolving bullet of thoughts rushed in. The eviction notice he had read, shot him directly in the brain. Damn, was that all his life had become. A cycle of close calls with drug induced numbness. “Max…. Max.” Rebecca whispered from Isle 12 in the middle of the store. He looked up quickly. Seeing her calling him over. Sneaking down the long Isle. Trying to avoid attention. “So why were you really late?” Picking up with Max as if their conversation hadn't been cut short hours ago. “Honestly I was so high I don't even remember.” They smiled at each other. Rebecca taking a cannabis vape from her pocket. Then taking a drag. “Want some?” She gently offered. Putting her hand up to his face. “I shouldn't cause balddo will be on my case.” They silently laughed at their nickname for Mr. Trevor. He and Rebecca meandered through the aisles, sharing fragments of their lives, the hum of fluorescent lights above becoming a soothing essence to their mundane conversation. Static…. a walkie-talkie attached to Rebecca's belt. “Rebecca where are you? If you don't respond, I'll be forced to look at the camera.” She rolled her eyes. Then beamed at Max. See you around, rock star. He watched the back of her brown bail bottoms as she walked away. Leaving him to unpack the mountains of boxes. Filled with forgotten stuffed animals and sneakers that were about to start talking. As time once again slowed to an unbearable pace. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the store. The orange, hazy sky was an impending sign that Thrifty Mart was almost about to close. Max had never been so bored in his life. But he kept weathering through. Moving carts to the front of the store. And bringing more empty boxes to stack in the back. He looked up by the registers to see a guy his age. In a fancy black leather jacket and crew neck shirt. With slick black hair and a punchable face that ladies probably loved. Rebecca appeared by his side. They embraced, then kissed. Holding hands as Rebecca spun around. Joking and laughing about something that was inaudible. He looked down, discretely checking his pager as not to be intrusive. No messages from Windy or his landlord. Shit… his eyes darted to find Rebecca again, but they disappeared into the crowd. Max's thoughts zigzagged to Wendy, his high school flame. Was it the real deal or just the pull of history that kept them groovin' since the rad days of high school? He continued working. Sighing with depression. Suddenly, a surprise bear-hug rocked him from behind, breaking through the synth beats of daily grind. "You seriously thought I'd jet without a 'later, babe'?" she teased. But in Max's head, a mystery vibe kicked in— I'll see you on Wednesday! Rebecca! Static came over the walkie-talkie. I'm coming… Mr. Trevor! Rebecca replied. No overtime, it's time to clock out! Rebecca gazed at max with a sympathetic look, waving, then walking back towards the front. He had never considered Rebecca to be more than a friend. But today he was really finding out she was the best one he had. Max now alone with the aisles of merchandise, the unsold dreams of countless shoppers surrounding him. He felt a speckle of happiness as he stacked the contents of the last box on the shelf. Closing time loomed like a specter. He slumped, all the shelves were finally stocked. His cramped hands were testaments to it. Now if he could only mop the floors and take out the trash. He'd be one step closer to his bed. The waft of smell came through, no sooner asked the bathroom door was open. Max found himself thrust into the unenviable task of cleaning the women's restroom—a microcosm of dirty tampons and loose toilet paper. He walked in, slapping his corded earbuds in. He didn't want to think about the stench hitting his nose. The towel in the main area was grimy but clear of debris. The bathroom stalls, on the other hand. That was a different story. He didn't bother to get the wet floor sign. It was 7:40. And they closed at 8:00. Who in their right mind. Would use the bathroom at the store in 20 minutes. The water glazed the floor. While the yellow mop bucket, a companies beside him. As he continued to mop the wet slippery floor. A numbing Bliss came over him. Or maybe that was just his excitement to finally be going home. But as the door swung open to the unlocked bathroom. And with no time to give a warning. A clumsy misstep, a momentary lapse in attention, and an older woman in a flowery dress laid unconscious on the restroom floor. The absence of a wet floor sign magnified Max's guilt, the air thick with the stench of regret. Desperation gripped him. As he panicked and swiftly exited the restroom. Bumping straight into Trevor Mongolia. Where are you headed in such a hurry? Max! Trevor snapped. Max didn't think before he spoke. I'm just heading to take the trash. I'm done with the bathrooms…. Mr. Mongolia stared at him sternly. And then smiled. You know you'd be a competent employee. If you could just show up to work on time. Now carry on, he said. As he briskly walked away. Proceeding to head to the back door. Max contemplated a plan. He could say the floors were already mopped. Maybe she had just stumbled in there. But she saw him. Didn't she? The black, thick gate swung open—an ill-fated attempt to escape the impending repercussions. In the dimly lit back alley, Max grabbed all five bags sitting by the back door. He propped it open with a broom. Lighting up a cigarette as he got towards the big green dumpsters. He tried throwing two bags over at a time. One of the bags cutting the edge of the dumpster, their contents spilling and staining his shoes like an omen of bad luck…. f**k his misfortune, he lit his cigarette again, the acrid smoke a desperate attempt to dispel the lingering anxiety. He grabbed the torn bag of garbage. Pulling himself over the edge of the dumpster to throw it inside. His keys, once a lifeline to a tenuous stability, slipped from his neck, clattering into the dumpster with a metallic jangle. Shit… echoed in the quiet night. Hastily rummaging though the bags of garbage. He finally retrieved his keys with the dim glow of his phone's flashlight, the world reduced to the harsh contrast of pixels. As the light partially blinded him. But what was that? That's something that the light caught in the distance. He Hopped over the garbage bin again. His light caught a reflective red glow in the distance. Amid the used toilet paper and spoiled clothes, a reflective gleam caught his eye—a diamond, incongruous and out of place, nestled among discarded remnants of junk scattered in the dumpster. He reached for it. The diamond was in the corner. He didn't want it to sink any deeper. He grabbed it! Reaching too far. Then falling in. A blood-red diamond. Max trembled, his fingers tracing the cold surface of the stone. Its allure was undeniable, a fleeting respite from the chaos that surrounded him. It shimmered with brilliance. Even without the streetlights. And for some reason, The diamond had him captivated as it synced with the rhythm of his heart. He could change his life with this. He could change Wendy's life with this. Not only that, but he could pay all his bills. Furthermore, he could become everything he ever wanted to be…. A deafening crash shattered the stillness behind him, and Max's blood ran cold. The diamond cutting his hand as he fumbled it. "There he is, officers!" Mr. Trevor's triumphant announcement echoed through the alley. The back doors of the store swung open violently, revealing the ominous silhouette of two police officers cloaked in the muted blue of authority. Trevor, wearing a disdainful sneer that cut through the tension, led them to Max. In a frenzied panic, Max's instincts kicked in. Without a second thought, he raised his hands. Dropping the glimmering diamond back into the dumpster. His hands, now trembling uncontrollably, betrayed the weight of his actions. The metallic click of handcuffs reverberated like a chilling final note in a crescendo of despair. They snapped around Max's wrists, their cold embrace sealing his fate. His world unraveled further as they led him away, leaving his key to freedom buried in a toxic stinky dumpster in the back of his job. A silent witness to the downfall of a man drowning in the waste of his choices.