I'm Destined for Death

The world around me is so loud. Car horns, chatter, church bells, and the clatter of metal against stone...my final lullaby. They said money could never buy happiness. Even if I did have money, I don't think I'd ever be able to buy the peace I crave. No amount of money could silence the exhaustion clawing at my bones, the weight of endless nights spent beneath fluorescent lights, answering call after call until my voice blurred into static. Even if I did have money, I don’t think I’d ever find happiness. Not when every day feels like drowning, and every night, I dream of an escape that never comes. My ears ring, the sounds of the city fading into a dull hum...until a voice cuts through the noise. "Supervisor’s looking for you." I blinked, trying to focus. A coworker stands beside me, their face blurry under the flickering station lights. My body moves on autopilot, following them back inside the office, where the artificial chill of the air-conditioning does nothing to wake me up. Inside the supervisor’s office, the harsh glow of the overhead lights makes everything feel even colder. My supervisor barely looks up from her screen as she speaks. "We’re moving you to collections." The words take a moment to sink in. Collections. The worst department. My stomach twists. That’s the third time in six months. First, I was stuck in outbound sales, forced to harass people into buying things they didn’t need. Then I got shuffled into tech support, drowning in problems I barely understood. Now what? Collections? Graveyard shift? It didn’t matter, they never asked. They just moved me, like I was nothing. I open my mouth to argue, but she’s already one step ahead of me."We’re short-staffed, and your metrics have been dropping. You’re lucky we’re keeping you at all." Lucky. Right. Because being screamed at by strangers for money they don’t have is a privilege. I nod, because that’s all I can do. Compliance keeps the paycheck coming. “You start tomorrow,” she adds, already typing something on her computer, dismissing me like an afterthought. I don’t even remember walking back to my desk. The rest of my shift passes in a blur, my headset digging into my skull, leaving a dent as I mumble the same lines over and over again. By the time I clock out, my feet feel like lead. The train station is packed, filled with the usual crowd of exhausted commuters. I squeeze into the last open space in a train car, my body swaying with the movement, but my mind is elsewhere. By the time I reach my stop, I’m too drained to even eat. I collapsed onto my bed without bothering to change out of my work clothes. Just five minutes, I told myself. Just five minutes to rest my eyes. When I wake up, it's already bright outside. I only slept for four hours. My body is too tired to move, and my apartment is as messy as ever. There's no food left in the fridge except for the cake I got for my birthday last week. The company hands out cakes to employees on their birthdays, plain sheet cakes with "Happy Birthday" printed on top. They keep stacks of them in the fridge, ready to hand out whenever someone's birthday rolls around. I took mine out. Only half of it is left. I ate some for breakfast, washing it down with instant coffee. The clock reads 9 AM. Six hours until my shift starts again. 3 PM to 3 AM. I don't even know if that kind of shift is legal, but I don’t really care. Out of the ten places I applied to, this was the only job that hired me. The pay is decent...at least, it would be if it weren’t for the bills, debts, and the money I send back to my family. I have six hours to fix the mess of the apartment I call home, stock up on groceries, and maybe—just maybe—do something different for once. Usually, I just stay in bed, staring at the TV until it’s time to leave. But today, I want to go out. I need to. There’s a new coffee shop nearby. I heard it doubles as a library. I guess the movies I’ll be watching today are letters on a page. First, the apartment. I force myself out of bed, peeling off the blanket that’s practically glued to my skin. The floor is a battlefield of laundry, empty food containers, and crumpled receipts. I grab a trash bag and start picking things up, one by one. Dishes sit in the sink, the water from last night’s rinse still pooled at the bottom. I scrub them clean, the scent of cheap dish soap stinging my nose. The laundry pile goes into the machine. I sweep the floor. It’s nothing impressive, but at least I can see the floor again. After an hour, I stood back, hands on my hips. It’s still a tiny, lifeless apartment, but it feels less suffocating now. It’s now 11:30 am. By the time I headed out, the sun was blazing. The grocery store is a short walk away, and the moment I step inside, the cold air wraps around me like a much-needed hug. I grab a basket and start picking out the basics: rice, eggs, instant noodles, and a few canned goods. I linger in the snack aisle, staring at a bag of chips, then at my wallet. I checked the prices again, doing the math in my head. I sigh. At the checkout counter, the total flashes on the screen, and my stomach twists. I discreetly glanced at the cashier and swallow my pride. “Um… sorry, can you take out the chips and the coffee creamer?” I say, forcing a laugh as if it doesn’t bother me. The cashier just nods, but I feel the heat creeping up my neck as they remove the items from my bill. I grab my bags and leave as fast as I can, pretending the whole thing never happened. I close my eyes, letting the silence settle over me, but it doesn't bring peace. It never does.