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.
Betty was one of the few people that I liked (kind of) here and I didn't want to lose that. I have already lost Ryan, not that there was much of a relationship to lose in the first place. But he was someone that I have known and tolerated for almost six years now and to me, that meant something. He was, and probably will always be, someone good in my books. And maybe that was because he was dead. Everybody tends to glorify someone who had recently passed away.
"Oh, he was a great man."
"Fabulous worker."
"Never complained."
"Such a handsome chap."
I could imagine the older ladies now, practically having a field day with it. I don't know if I will be able to stand them but I'll make sure to sit at the back of the church and think about the Ryan that I knew. That Ryan and his God-damned beautiful smile. I would miss it for sure.
Basically anyway, what I wanted to say was that I was bored and lonely as I sat in the dreary, deserted store.
Time was ticking by so slowly.
Slowly but surely ticking down the time until I could leave.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Janette had come in a few minutes ago, stopping by for a litre of milk. If didn't know any better then I would say that she lived on the stuff but then again there was two of them in the house. And Mark, I think, will always consider himself to be a growing boy. Which is totally ridiculous of course, he is in his forties after all.
Nevertheless, I was glad to have the distraction called Janette. Her gossip was as pointless as always but thankfully, she didn't mention Gale or Ryan, which surprised me a little if I'm being honest. I would have thought that she'd be the first to attack me after what had happen, I was the person who found Gale. But she didn't seem to care, or at least she pretended to not to. Maybe, she thought that I would bring up the topic which I wasn't going to.
But, giving her some credit, she took my mind off of the whole ordeal for a couple of moment. Oddly, I felt the need to give her a hearty clap on the back saying 'Thanks, love, you're annoyance proved useful after all!'
Mark had even spoken a tad, mainly just being that sarcastic bastard that he was. Not that I wasn't fond of him, I was. Weirdly so. I could easily tolerate the chap. And that was becoming more and more obvious with our late night 'rendezvous'' at my front door. I was getting increasingly worried that the old ladies of Longhall would start to notice and plot our relationship out fully. Playing the matchmakers as usual.
Which could really make anyone shiver. Even though I like the fella (if I could even say that), he was forty-something and I was twenty three and three-quarters. The age gap was, to me, wholly disturbing. Not that the old ones cared about my discomfort. If anything, they would relish in the idea and get poor Mark's hopes up. He was just a tad too fond of me, if his drunken comments were anything to go by. Not that he would say things like that sober. No, Mark had some class in that sense, thank God.
I just didn't want to be the one to finally sit him down and give him the talk that he deserved after all of these years of hiding out in a creepy basement. Janette could be that one. She could be the one to tell him that I wasn't interest.
Though, she wouldn't of course put it like that. No, she would probably come up with a long story about how my family were part of the Irish mafia and how I definitely was not good enough for him.
And that was just fine with me. As long as he didn't mind talking to me again after it. My 'friend' list was dwindling now that Ryan was gone. I was now down to two, Betty and Mark. And for all I know, Betty is a sneaky murderer and I didn't want Mark to disappear too. I think I would finally cross that line into insanity and have to go back home, if only for the company.
I should probably invest in some more cats. One clearly isn't keeping me occupied enough.
I tapped the pen that had found itself in my hand again, my mind wandering off to odd locations again.
I wonder if Princess Banana wants a roomie?
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
"Oi Sexy!"
I shook my head, away from the current thoughts that were bunking in my over-imaginative mind. Ryan Gosling sure did look fine without a shirt on...
"Oh, Betty," I muttered, trying to rid the image of a nice chest with a great set of abs. I was way too sexually frustrated at the moment. I couldn't even remember the last time I had sex. I didn't have the time to spare for the frivolous activity and to be honest, I didn't enjoy that much physical contact. And sometimes, the partner mauled too much for my liking.
"Darling, what is on that mind of yours?" A sly, brightly red-coloured smile spread across her slim, contoured face. Betty looked well today, better than usual. Her voice was perky and lively and if I didn't know any better, I would have said that she had won the library. But this was Longhall and things that required that amount of luck didn't happen here. No, what we got was a bunch of hideous killings.
Damian, out local poet and full-time dark/mysterious/brooding character, had gone into overdrive.
What does this mean?
Are we being punish in this life?
What is life?
If I am being completely truthful, I would expect that a new work of poetry was coming out soon - completing a trilogy of self-published texts so far. Maybe, this one would take off and be a worldwide hit? I doubted it as much but strange things happened where Damian was involved.
"Nothing," I replied swiftly after a moment of staring into space thinking of the married man. I should feel guilty about thinking about him, the man was taken. He was off the shelf and here I was, sitting behind a desk, failing to serve a loyal customer and thinking of him. Of course, I wasn't thinking of him in that way but did others?
"Of course Pet," she grinned before pointing to a packet of cigarettes on the wall behind me. Looking at it, I raised an eyebrow. It was a more expensive brand, costing about a euro extra just for that bloody picture on the front. It made no sense in my eyes what the difference was but then again, I am not a smoker and wouldn't know the different tastes. I had never had one and nor would I. It was a terrible habit but I wasn't about to tell Betty that. No, she was her own woman and I'd let her live the life that she wanted to peacefully.
"Any occasion?" I asked casually, eyeing her up and I took the cash. Betty really did look better, those bags that usually had pride of place under her eyes were gone. And so was that dark, heavy make-up. She had obviously chosen a more natural look today, using some soft brown colours. She looked stunning, as always, but more-so today.
"Oh, not really. I think it is just deserved," she said before chuckling. It was like that awkward moment when your were around a group of friends that you weren't part of and they all laughed at some joke. A joke that no one would let you in on because it was just too damn exciting and all.
That's how it felt.
And I didn't really want to know what it was about this time.
"Oh dearies! You're here!"
I looked away from Betty's brown eyes and fixed my eyes on the blacked-clad man behind her. His face was wrinkled with age, like old leather, worn and tired. His eyes sagged as did his cheeks. His eye brows were thick and grey, like two slugs had planted themselves on his forehead and called it 'home'.
Father Roche watched Betty suspiciously for a moment before turning back to me with a large smile. He had been so happy when I had arrived here, being a true believer of the phrase 'the youth of the world is our future.' Not that he looked at Betty with the same eyes as he did me. He never trusted the girl, maybe due to those rumours, which she spread herself, about working as a prostitute full time. Seriously, her motto was 'Anytime, anywhere,' which suited most men down to a 'T'.
I didn't blame him, he was a man of God and those kind of careers were not encouraged, far from it.
And now, I wasn't making fun or mocking his views either. Believing in something was not a bad thing and Father Roche, like most others, did it quietly without interfering with other people's lives, a fact which I was glad of. Not once did he come into this shop and try to push me into the House of God. I had to respect him for what he was, a Priest, a life which many people couldn't or wouldn't lead.
And he was a lovely man to back it up, even though he was a times a tad dramatic.
"Oh, hello Father," I said, smiling lightly at him while handing Betty her purchase. Father Roche's eyes watched the exchange and I couldn't nearly hear him mutter some words, praying that Betty would give it up before it killed her. I did agree with him on that, smoking was after all a very nasty habit. And was a habit that I surely would never partake in.
"Cassy, you're are just the person I was looking for," Father Roche smiled enthusiastically. Betty rolled her eyes and I thought that she would just take her leave now. But she stood back and watched my exchange with the local parish Priest with a small gleam in her eyes.
"Really?" I asked, putting Betty's money into the till, fixing it around and placing it into the right slots. Father Roche clap his hands, rubbing them a bit as I did this, waiting patiently for me to finish so I could focus on him like any good worker would.
"Oh yes," he began as soon as I looked up, "I need you to spread the word of Ryan's funeral and Gale's too, may their souls rest in peace. It'd be nice if a good crowd showed up for their burial, you know, to pay their respects."
I nodded in agreement, that would be nice. But what would also be nice is if people came to say their good-byes and not just to be another number in the crowd. As I had said, Father Roche was dramatic and he loved a good gathering, it seemed to spur him on to give better and more lively sermons. How he good still manage 'lively' was beyond me, the man must have been ancient.
"That'd be not problem Father," I said, before taking a glance at Betty. Her face was scrunched up into a frown since Ryan's name had been mentioned. I didn't like to think it but from all of her reactions so far, I would go as far as to say that there was bad blood between the pair, very bad blood.
"That man doesn't deserve that. And neither does that old cow. Gosh, her knitting was annoying wasn't it?"
Father Roche and I stared a her in shock, both mouths open wide in amazement at her harsh words. They were gone, for crying out loud and neither of them had done anything to her, as far as I knew. And I was fairly up to speed on the local gossip, thanks to Janette this morning.
"Well, um, could you do that then?" Father Roche said, gaining his composure first. I pulled my eyes away from the boiling Betty before nodding once more. I was surprised that the Priest did reprimand Betty for her cruelty, I would have thought that he would have mentioned something. But he seemed to have some understanding of her, which I couldn't comprehend.
"Yeah, that'd be grand Father," I muttered, my eyes finding their way back to Betty for a moment as she swivelled around on her heels and waltzed out of the small store. I shook my head at her, trying to forget my suspicions of her. I didn't want to think it, but my thoughts that she had something to do with his murder were getting stronger and stronger. Slowly they were making their way from the back of my mind and I didn't like it. I had always considered her to be a good person, one of the best around here. She never judged or harmed anyone but now, now I was reconsidering.
"Oh, good, good."
I didn't think that it was 'good, good' at all. No, I would even go as far as to say the situation was 'bad, fucking bad.'