Closing Time

69. (End)

I looked down at the bag of chips in my hand, carefully ripping it open in one smooth move. My fingers picked out one chip, popping it in my mouth. Cracking open a can, I tilted my head back to take a sip. There was a slight clunk from the metal as I pressed too hard. The sound made me switch my grip to the base. I was still learning to control my new strength. Over the last week, I'd shattered a good amount of glasses before giving up and switching to using plastic.

Glass was a hazard around me until I figured out how to join all the pieces together. I'd figured out how to recreate the base of the glasses but I couldn't recreate the glass to its full form yet. There was a literal bag of broken glass in my backpack just to practice that.

I'd been reimbursing the cash register for the glasses I'd broken. The Jamesons' had received my resignation after the fact that the rest of the people who were supposed to be working with me were dead, not that they knew it either. I didn't receive a reply from them last I checked. It made me question if their cruise was real or not. I'd gotten maybe three replies from them in the entire time I'd been working here. They're either dead, or having a great time. I hope it's the latter. They seemed like a nice bunch.

Picking up the can again, I took another sip, a lot more careful with my grip now. I ripped open of the two energy bars I'd bought from the vending machine. Man, this was tedious.

Eating to me has always been an activity that I avoided if I could. Something that landed me in several painful situations throughout my life. The fact that I had to eat something almost every hour now in order to keep up my body's rapid consumption of energy felt like karma. Especially now that I don't even feel hungry or thirsty.

That was a change I'd more or less been happy about. Eating only if I want to instead of needing to. But now I need to. All. The. Fucking. Time. How do people do this? Feeling hungry so I would have to eat would've been a better choice compared to being forced to eat no matter what.

Why is this bar so chewy? Is this expired?

My fingers twisted the bar in my hand to read the information on the back. Eating is so boring.

My attention was drawn from the green wrapper to the entrance. There was a rush of footsteps. Several of them. Still leaning forward, my eyes scanned the people who'd walked in. I didn't know them. Yet they seemed famili-

They're packing.

I could see a glint of something metallic under one of their coat. Another had his hand shoved into his pocket. Their eyes were scanning the place. Looking for someo-

Looking for me.

I sighed to myself. They fit the profile. Crossing fifties, a bit of a self- important look, puffed necks and the aura of anger and grief. Definitely Hunters. Retired, possibly, judging by the house loafers one of them is wearing.

My hand moved on it's own, knocking off the cap on my head. The other hand caught it as it slid down my back. Pulling out my phone, I quickly slid to a picture of myself in the gallery as I stood up to head to the washrooms. My shoulders were hunched as I stared at my phone. I'd been mistaken as a guy several times the last week when I was wearing baggy clothes. This weak attempt to hide myself wouldn't work.

I could already hear the hubbub amidst them. Not a lot of people here. I had already been noticed.

My feet led me into the guy's washroom. I immediately whipped around towards the mirror.

My hair had been growing out pretty fast. It lay flat on my head because of the cap I'd been wearing, already starting to curl into its wavy form.

But it wasn't my concern at the moment.