Going Under Cover

Chapter 8 (repost!)

8

I was honestly surprised at the level of boredom that I was feeling at that particular moment. Never once did it occur to me that this could happen, in all of my unproductive life.

Nevertheless, it was true what I was feeling.

A super rare disease called 'ultra boredom'.

It was in fact a disease which one would get after something spectacularly exciting happen to oneself.

For some, it's your first kiss (which is not what I felt, believe me. Barry Hiltmore's breath was enough to bring up my dinner.)

For others, coming home after a holiday.

For me, it was the death of two of my fallen comrades; Gale and Ryan Adams. Mainly, though it was that adrenaline that had kicked in which had sparked my desire to wring the neck of whoever was currently going on a killing spree in my quaint, little village. I didn't like the fact that they chose the exact place where I chose to reside. No, I definitely didn't. In fact, I downright hated it. I was appalled. Of all of the places on this earth, they had to chose Longhall, one of the most inconspicuous villages of all time. We couldn't even win a 'tidy towns' award for Christ's sake, much to Father Roche's annoyance.

Who knew that everyone in this village had a bad back which made them completely unable to pick up after themselves? Not me anyway.

Still, as I sat at the same table which I had been sitting at for the past (nearly) six years, I couldn't help but feel that downward slip of excitement. I had a good mind to go out and start some mischief myself, not that I actually would. That would require effort. Effort which I was not committed to put in.

No, what I was feeling was just plain, good old boredom. Not the stuff that I usually complain about, no this was on another level entirely by itself. It was the kind where the clock actually looked like it was going backwards. And maybe it was. God knows that Weiner buys the most worthless crap to be found online on Ebay. I wouldn't put it past the clock, which was staring at me mockingly.

'Come at me bro!'

I didn't even have the company of Mr Smith to keep me entertained. I had never thought that I would ever think such words but I was beginning to miss the old fecker like Miley Cyrus would twerking, like Tom Daly would shaving and like Lady GaGa would being just plain crazy. Without Mr Smith, I was feeling more down in the dumps than usual.

And that was saying something because I was not one to be known for one's happiness.

Seriously, I wasn't.

I know, hard to believe.

But it is true.

And I was growing tired of being alone. Here, in this shop, I felt alone, more so than ever. It was almost as if the world had withdrawn from me. It decided 'Hey guys, let's just take a break and grab a coffee,' without telling me. Not that I particularly liked coffee anyway. I was always more of a tea person. I was born and raised on the stuff. I wouldn't be all too surprised if I found out that instead of breast-feeding me, my mother gave me tea. I'm hooked on the bloody drink, whether I like it or not. I should go to one of the 'alcohol anonymous' things but instead talk about tea. It might be productive.

But getting back on track, I was lonely. I was even looking forward to seeing Betty today. That is if she even turned up. I wanted to question her about Ryan and their relationship. But I knew that in the end, I wouldn't because it wasn't my business. It was between them, or it was. And that is the way Betty clearly wanted it to stay, from her reaction and all. I could only hope that she had nothing to do with his death, although I am feeling decidedly anxious about it.