Tuesday, March 31st, 2015 | I only go shopping at night
The cashier swipes my items across the scanner as I stare at the floor.
I find it easiest to get through my anxiety by avoiding eye contact with other people. That’s why I only go shopping at night
fewer people to avoid.
“Did you find everything okay?” she asks casually.
“Mm-hmm,” I mumble to the floor. Her voice sounds nice. Pleasant. Curiosity wins over and I glance up.
The cashier’s head is completely caved in on the left side. Probably a car accident.
I snap my gaze back down towards the floor.
After I pay she gives back my change in a hand so mangled
I’m surprised it can hold anything at all.
Thanking her, I grab my bags and turn towards the exit. Immediately I see a man looking through magazines at the store
front. The skin on his face and hands is the consistency of a hot dog that fell into a campfire. Burn victim.
I rush out the door as fast as I can. In my car I finally catch my breath as I lean my forehead on the steering wheel.
Eventually I look up and see my familiar reflection in the rear-view mirror: my head is blown open in the back. Gunshot victim.
Why did I ever wish for the power to see how people die?
Credit to reddit user resistance1984