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Just Another Day

The boy lay cramped up against the tiny little futon, sleeping as peacefully as he could. His dreams were abruptly interrupted by the sudden noise being cast from the alarm on his phone; an annoying beep he'd set up to serve as his alarm. Groaning in irritation and defiance the soft orange fox tossed and turned about; he was desperately trying to steal just another moment's rest, but it was no use. With a defeated sigh he lifted himself out of his covers and stretched out his lithe little form, trying to ignore the ache in his back that came with sleeping on such a crummy bed.

He tiredly scanned over the sea of assorted clothing that made up his floor before spotting his phone amid the chaos. The fox flipped it open, and as he shut off the alarm he saw the time was eight AM. He knew that he had to be at work soon. He hated when they asked him to work in the morning. He liked his afternoon shifts much better; he never felt like he had to force motivation in the afternoon. He also hated that he was running on no sleep as once again he'd spent most of the night just wishing he could fall asleep.

Shit happens. That's what he'd tell himself. It had become his life motto. When something got to him or he didn't like something, he'd just repeat that little phrase in his mind, shrug his shoulders, and move on. There wasn't anything he could do about it anyways, at least that's what he'd gotten used to telling himself.

Once again he found himself sifting through a mess of scattered clothing, searching for an acceptable outfit. The fox finally settled on an unassuming navy blue t-shirt and a pair of light khaki pants. It was the dress code at his job, and he personally didn't care for it much. It didn't matter what he thought, though. No, he just slipped the shirt over his delicate frame and threw the khakis on over his legs, briefly pretending to admire the way he looked before searching for his shoes.

Finding his footwear didn't take long; they were neatly placed on his little shoe rack. The old thing was barely able to support its own weight, and it was beginning to lean again. The fox just ignored this and collected his black tennis shoes with the blue laces from the rack before slipping them over his feet. With that he was ready for work, or at least his version of ready.

He now found himself in debate. There was more than enough time for breakfast, but he wasn't usually very hungry first thing in the morning. He thought it over for a minute, and decided he'd worry about food when lunch came around at work.

The boy made his way over the poorly constructed computer desk in the corner of his tiny little room. He planned to browse online for a while, intending only to kill the precious few moments before he'd inevitably have to make the journey to work. He loathed the thought of having to leave home for a place he'd rather not be.

He flipped on the PC and waited for it to go through the annoying boot time process. He hated having to wait for the damn thing to start up. He wished he had a solid state drive for his computer like his friends did- then it might not take all day to start up. Shit happens. That's what he reminded himself, shrugging off the thought completely as the computer finally booted.

He popped open the browser and went through his social media sites. No messages, no notifications, nothing. He was pretty used to that; not many people bothered to send a 'hello' his way. He sighed and began scrolling through some photos. A few had him chuckling internally, but ultimately it was a dull, boring process only good for eating away slowly at the time. He glanced down at the clock and noted it was eight forty-five AM, time for him to get going.

The fox willed himself out of his chair and made his way over to grab a simple blue hoodie, just in case it was cold. He threw it on quickly before snatching up the lanyard which held his keys. After a quick scan to ensure nothing was forgotten, he dashed out the door.

It was a pretty bright morning, and the air was crisp and chilly. Shivering a bit from the cold, he stepped off the porch making haste towards his black Aztec. The car was little more than a jalopy, but it was a gift from his dad. He really didn't have any room to complain about it. Even if it had died more times than he could count, a free car was better than no car.

He hopped into the driver's side, put the key in the ignition, and headed off to work. The drive was always short; he only lived a few minutes from the convenience store. The thought of being so close drew a sigh from his lips. Often he wished that work was further away so there would be more time to mentally prepare before the day. He twisted the knob on the radio letting the screamo band's CD left in the player blare. His thoughts quickly dulling out over the short-lived drive.

The fox arrived at work with just enough time to have a smoke before he went in. Fumbling around in his hoodie pocket, he managed to find his pack of cigarettes. Marlboro Black Menthol were his poison of choice. He flipped open the pack, pulled one out, and lit it before rolling down the window just a crack. His thoughts focused on relaxing his nerves and waking himself up a bit. He dreaded mornings, he'd never really been a morning person. It just wasn't a good time for him.

It didn't take long to kill a smoke, as he couldn't be bothered to savor a cigarette. The point was to enjoy them, but for him it was just a process; something done without much thought involved. He never really knew why, it was just how he was about it. The fox imagined when he'd first started that maybe he savored them, but there was no certainty anymore. It'd been awhile, and his memory was terrible.

Slumping out of the driver's side door, the fox sluggishly made his way through the parking lot. He scanned around the mess of cars, half of which weren't even parked between their lines. Finding himself unable to avoid noticing the string of carts scattered around the place, he felt disgust; the customers were all too lazy to walk five feet and put the carts up themselves. It was pathetic, and he was sure they'd recruit him for cart pushing at some point in the day. Shit happens. That's what he reminded himself.

He stepped through the sliding glass doors, and felt the cool chill of the store's air system which always kept the place a little chilly. Shivering for a moment, he tried to just ignore the cold as he made his way through a sea of faces towards the back. So many shoppers, he was unable to resist noting. More than that, the majority of them were horribly obese or strung out on drugs. It was a repulsive sight, but one the fox was used to.

Stepping quietly into the back, he walked past the break room. The sound of people laughing could be made out, but he hadn't the faintest clue what they were talking about. It wasn't really much of a concern to the boy, he really didn't know the morning crew very well and didn't offer it much more thought. Scanning his badge, he punched himself in. It was a minute 'til nine AM. Technically he was early, and he had no complaints about that.

His pace slowed on the way towards the front end of the store. As a cashier he usually ran registers. The job had been requested intentionally, in the hopes of maybe forcing himself to learn how to better deal with people. A shudder ran down his spine at his naive thought; all it had done was make him even more miserable. Shit happens. That's what he reminded himself.

It didn't take long for the boy to find himself at the front end. He wasn't really sure how he'd even gotten there. The motions just carried him away, his thoughts drifting away until he found himself there. Scanning around the registers, he searched for a particular face. Finally, he spotted her. The beautiful blue furred wolfess who ran the front end. The only person in the whole store he felt any reliance on. Sam.

When he'd first met her, she was running things on the night shift. One of his later shifts had crossed into her territory. Customer Service Managers were usually lazy and twiddled their thumbs, but not Sam. When she came to his shift, it was the same way. She was the type who, much like him, couldn't stand twiddling her thumbs. She needed to work, needed to feel like she was accomplishing something, and hated pushing her work off onto others. She was probably the only person in the whole store who got him.

"Hey Blake, what's up?" she called out to him. He offered a glare in her direction. He would have smiled, but honestly he couldn't remember how. It was pathetic, he couldn't muster up one of the most basic of facial expressions. Then again there wasn't much about him that wasn't completely pathetic, at least to his own eyes. "I need you to run register 5 today man." she spoke, using her typical stoner slang. He groaned internally, register 5 was the worst one to be stuck with. Still when Sam asked him for something, he didn't feel as grouchy about it.

"Alright, cool" he muttered. Like always keeping talk small and simple. He wasn't one for words, he'd never been the talkative type. Honestly he couldn't even really talk to people unless he'd gotten warmed up to them. It was a weird personality failure, one he seemed unable to overcome. Shit happens. That's what he reminded himself.

Blake made his way over to the dreaded register. It was the first register in line that wasn't 'ten items or less' which, unfortunately, meant it was the first register that the customers poured themselves into. He hated working it, but he was stuck with it a lot. What he lacked in social skills he made up for with speed. Blake was the fastest cashier by a significant margin. As a result he got zero thanks and dropped in the roughest spots to deal with everyone.

The first few hours of his day were what he expected. A slew of customers rushing through his register. Some always sought him out because they knew to head his way if you wanted out quick. Others were just too lazy to look for another open register. It didn't matter much to him. He just zoned out into his work, letting the time tick by. Trying not to think about anything, just feed the customers the pre-planned script and drifted through the motions. It was his method of surviving the day. At least the best method he had for surviving the day.

He spent most of his time in his head, but he stepped out long enough to notice some brutish bear male complaining about something or another. He didn't pay it any attention, just offered an empty apology on the stores behalf. Another customer, a twig of a bunny girl, was trying to start a conversation with him while he scanned her things. The fox couldn't offer more than a few awkward phrases, and kicked himself internally for it. He wished he could figure out conversation. Shit happens. That's what he reminded himself.

It was half an hour past his break time when Sam came around again, "Hey I'm gonna go ahead and send you to break. When you get back I've got a job for you to do" she said. That made him happy. She knew his feelings about the register, and when Sam was in charge she often let him take on other tasks in the store. Ones that didn't require him dealing with people, it made him happy. He preferred that kind of work really.

He made his way out of the store and around the side of the building. They had a sub-par little bench there for employees to smoke on break. He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out another cigarette. Looking around he saw that no one else was on break. Oh well, he never talked anyways, he'd just listen to other people talk. It was pleasant in its own way. At least to him it was.

He smoked in quiet solitude. Being alone wasn't really unfamiliar to him. Honestly, he was pretty used to it. It wasn't like he really had any friends. He had a few people he could talk to at work, but no one that he really thought would consider him a friend. Just co-workers and when the day ended he was alone. Though sometimes he'd get off work and just sit out in the smoke area waiting pathetically for people to drop in.

His fifteen minutes didn't last too long. It never really did. With a sigh he pulled himself up off the bench and slumped back towards the front. On the bright side, he found himself thinking, when he went back in he'd have a manual task to do. That was definitely his preference. He was happy that Sam was around, she always seemed to have his back.

"Hey man" she called out as he came through the sliding glass door to the front of the store, "Take this" she said handing him one of the stores box-cutters. Holding it brought his thoughts back to his time working overnight stocking. He was used to the dull box-cutters that weren't good for more than cutting tape, "I need you to stock some stuff" she told him pointing over to a cart filled with boxes which needed to be stocked onto the shelves.

He didn't waste anytime really. Walking over to the boxes, he began to peel em all open. On the front end they always got a mix of things to stock. Some of the items would be up front, some would be way in the back, and others scattered throughout the store. So he knew even though there wasn't a lot of things compared to what stockers normally got, he'd be busy for a good part of his day.

It took him the better part of his work day. He spent the next two hours walking back and forth across the store. Searching around, finding the places things went, and then putting them up. The whole while his focus was lost on the plastic yellow box-cutter. He hated how cheap they were, but they did get the job done. He lost himself in the thoughts of what a real box-cutter could do. He wondered if this one could even draw blood. His thoughts lingered a moment on the idea.

Lunch came around pretty quick, but he didn't really notice. It wasn't until a familiar wolfess approached, making him leave for lunch that his thoughts even drifted on the idea. He sighed softly and made his way to the back once more. He scanned his badge and punched himself out for lunch, noting the time was now one-thirty PM. He made a mental note that he'd return from his hour lunch at two-forty PM. He never came back on time.

A few moments after he'd clocked out for lunch he saw Sam making her way to the back. She must have been clocking out to lunch too. That made him happy. His favorite person to eat lunch with was the wolfess. She was the only person around he even really liked talking to. He could do without her constant ramblings of Superman, but really even that didn't much bother him. He was pretty used to her quirky personality, and found himself often enjoying it.

"What are you getting for lunch?" she asked him as she moved to catch up with him. As much as he enjoyed her company, she seemed to enjoy his too. That always made him happy. Not many people around really cared about, or even noticed his presence.

"Oh well I dunno...I might not eat. I'm not that hungry." he muttered. The fox sometimes picked up lunch at the deli and sometimes he'd just get a drink. It really just depended on his mood. Today he'd been too lost in a daze. His thoughts hadn't even lingered much on work. Odds were, he probably wasn't going to get anything to eat.

"Well you should" she scolded. The mother of two in her coming to the surface to give him a lecture about proper eating, "It's not healthy to work all day on an empty stomach" she warned. He thought about her advice, but he really wasn't feeling hungry. They temporarily parted ways at the deli as he went straight to the soda machine outside, and she went to grab a bite to eat.

Again he'd been so lost in his head he wasn't even sure how he'd gotten from one point to the next. His whole day seemed to just be him aimlessly drifting through motions. He hated that, he wished he had the capacity to withdraw from his head and embrace the moment. He just never really could, he didn't know why. Shit happens. That's what he reminded himself.

Placing a dollar in the machine, the fox punched the button for a bottle of Pepsi. It was one of his preferred drinks. He leaned down and picked it up before twisting off the cap, listening to the sound of the carbon escaping. Bringing the bottle to his lips the fox took a satisfying drink. It was cold and crisp, the mark of a fresh bottle.

After slipping around to the side of the building again, he found a seat and breathed in the fresh air. It was a pretty warm day, and he was happy to get the feeling of a cool breeze against his fur. It brought a sense of relief to him. The fox smiled softly as he relaxed for the time being, holding off his urge to draw out a cigarette, knowing the wolfess would be around the corner at any moment.

Finally he saw her rounding the corner. She came over and sat at the bench across from him and smiled. Watching as she withdrew a cigarette from her own from her pack, he reached into his pocket and fished out one of his own before lighting it. He always waited on her if she was around. Taking a slow drag, the fox savored the first hit of his cancer stick. With an exhale, he watched as a cloud of smoke rolled across the sky.

"So what's up?" he asked. It was a pretty basic question. It was the only one he really ever felt any confidence delivering. It was unattached, inquisitive, and allowed someone else to fill in the blanks of conversation on his behalf. Really it was a convenient tool for him to utilize. The one sure fire thing he could say without feeling awkward.

"Oh well the boys are doing great" she said, in her usual optimistic manner. He liked her upbeat attitude. When it came to work sometimes she'd feel down, and he'd seen her on awful days, but when he thought about her this was the version that came to mind, "My littlest one did the cutest thing the other day" she said getting giddish.

For the next twenty or thirty minutes he listened to her telling the story of some little antic her kid pulled. She loved everything they did, he sometimes wondered if there was anything they did she didn't find adorable in some way. He always imagined that she must be a great mom, though he'd never really seen her around her kids. The way she talked about them, he couldn't imagine her being anything beyond wonderful.

"What about you? How have you been dude?" she asked, again in that usual manner of hers. She was pretty cool, and even though pretty much no one said 'man' or 'dude' anymore she seemed to make it work. It just fit her style so well. He wondered what he'd say, then again he didn't have to wonder. The same thing he always said when asked that question.

"I've been alright" he muttered. Short, simple, and to the point. There wasn't really much room to continue on, or add to it. He wasn't the talking type. He liked to keep things at a distance. It was a habit of his. He had no idea where it came from, he just was that way he figured. Sometimes he wished he could talk more freely like Sam. Shit happens. That's what he reminded himself.

Lunch blew by pretty quick and he was back to work. Sifting around the store finishing up the last of the stocking job he'd been left with. As he was finishing up his work a lioness approached him. She looked a bit tweaked out, but then again most customers did. He wasn't even sure which ones were or weren't on drugs. He just assumed most of them were.

"Hey, can you help me" she asked and he looked to her, offering a nod. "Where are the headphones?" she asked. He didn't mind being asked this one as much. The headphones in the store really were poorly placed. It was a wonder he'd ever found them himself. He lead her through to the electronics section and towards a discrete little shelf out of the way of everything else. He showed her them and smiled softly. He wasn't sure if she said 'thanks' or not. He wasn't really paying any attention.

After finishing up with caring for the customer the fox made his way back to the front. He was surprised when Same approached him. She wanted him to go to his next break early. He sighed. Blake hated going to his last break just moments after he'd gotten back from lunch. He knew she wouldn't ask unless she needed him for something though, so he reluctantly made his way back outside.

As he sat outside on the bench waiting for his last break to end, he stared down at the box-cutter again. Gently, it was rolled around between his fingers. Eying it over, he was thinking about it obsessively. He still couldn't help, but wonder if it was sharp enough to draw blood. That thought, it just wouldn't leave his mind.

The break ended pretty quick and as he was on his way inside, Sam was on her way out. She explained to him pretty briefly she had wanted him to do cart-pushing for the last part of the day. The only cart pusher the store had on duty was on lunch and the carts were dangerously low. He nodded and slipped inside to grab the annoying little green safety vest that the cart pushers had to wear before drifting back outside.

Blake had a love-hate relationship with cart-pushing. The day just flew by when he busied himself in this fashion. At the same time, however, it also was exhausting. He'd never really imagined pushing around 20 carts by hand would be difficult, given the knowledge that they had wheels. Even with them, it didn't change the fact that it took some strength to move them around, especially during turns. Even so, it was better than dealing with customers he figured.

The fox worked himself to exhaustion outside. Other cart pushers took breaks and went slow on purpose. Blake wasn't like that, he didn't like to waste time. He wanted to go in and do his job to the best of his ability. It usually meant body aches with nothing to show for it. He didn't mind though, he was happy to contribute his part to the workforce. If no one bothered to offer thanks, oh well. Shit happens. That's what he reminded himself.

He happened to glance down after a few hours of working and realized it was time for him to clock out from work. That made him a bit happier. He quickly rounded up the last of the carts, and pushed them inside before making his way to the customer service desk. Slipping off his vest Blake handed it to the busty bovine running the desk. She smiled and wished him a good day knowing that he was on his way out.

He rushed to the back of the store once more. Scanning his badge for the last time, he punched himself out for the day. With a soft hum to himself the boy made his way towards the front one last time. On his way he caught the wolfess, and offered her a friendly peace sign signaling that he was out for the day. She waved bye to him, and he disappeared out of the store for the day.

The fox didn't waste much time at all heading home. He was unusually sick of work, not that he ever really enjoyed being there. With a soft sigh, he pulled into the driveway of his home and crawled his way out of the door. withdrawing one more cigarette from his pack, he decided on one last smoke before going inside. Again, he breathed in the fresh air for a moment before lighting up and taking a draw from his cancer stick.

He spent a few minutes outside taking quick drags of his cigarette. The clouds of smoke from his exhale rolling up into the sky. He wasted his time again, losing himself in thought. Before long his cigarette had been burned to the butt, and he carelessly flicked it out of his sight before heading inside.

Blake made his way back to the tiny little bedroom. Again, he went to his computer desk, and found that like before there was no messages. Nothing to look forward to. He scrolled through a few images online before looking down and noticed his box-cutter once again. His thoughts drifted to the same place as before.

This time he picked up the yellow box-cutter and looked over the blade. It was covered in tape residue and pieces of cardboard. He looked it over and figured it was probably too dull. It suddenly dawned on him though that there were spare blades in the back of the box-cutter.

He popped out the back and pulled one out. Just your average razor blade, it hadn't been used, the blade shimmering in the light of his bedroom. He wondered if he could draw blood. It looked like it could. His experience with his store's box-cutters though was that they were dull. This one, however, looked pretty sharp.

Blake looked to his khakis and pulled up the left pant leg. Gently his fingers ran along the fur. His eyes trailed to the blade. He wondered what it would feel like, would he bleed a lot, maybe he'd feel nothing. The boy wasn't sure anymore, he never felt much of anything. Sometimes he wondered if he could feel anything. He just didn't know.

There was no sense wasting away wondering. He decided to find out. bringing the blade to his leg, he thought of his hatred of pain. Blake and paid didn't get along, but when it came to cutting he never had trouble. Pressing the blade down to his leg, he dragged it down. He could feel the sting of the razor splitting apart his flesh, and then he saw a little trickle of blood.

It wasn't enough. The sting was light, and the cut was shallow. He found himself curious if there were any major veins on his leg. There was one on the wrist, he knew that. Sideways for attention, he remembered that saying. With a sigh he brought the blade back down to his leg again, once more he placed some pressure and dragged it along. Again, he felt the flesh splitting around the edge of the blade. It was just another shallow cut.

His thoughts drawing a sigh as he kicked himself internally. It was a simple cut, why couldn't he get it right? How pathetic was he? The thought just weighed itself down on his mind until he decided to try one last time. Bringing the blade down, he pressed with more force as he worked it against his leg. This time he found himself surprised the flesh torn apart into a deep gash along his leg, blood pouring over his socks and onto his shoes.

"Shit!" he cried in surprise. His intent wasn't to cut so deep. He just wanted to bleed a little bit. kicking his shoe off quickly, he peeled away his already ruined sock and tied it around his leg to stop the bleeding. It probably wasn't sanitary, but he really didn't care. Blake didn't care too much though. He just let the blood soak into the sock, and hoped it'd die down on its own with a bit of time.

He looked to the razor blade and gently placed it back into the box-cutter. It was definitely sharp enough to draw blood. The answer brought him a sense of satisfaction. He was happy with the results. Honestly, he regretted not using the blood to do something. Blake's thoughts drifting to an old journal he'd kept at fourteen. One that he signed every entry of with a bloody hand-print. There was more than enough blood to do something like write his name. He was sure of it, but he'd wasted the opportunity. Shit happens. That's what he reminded himself.