Sinner's reaper

Jane Adams I'm currently in the worst phase of my mundane life. Not that there was ever a time when I was happy to be alive, but then again, I'm kind of glad I'm not dead. I'm trying to save a lot of money and escape from this godforsaken town that I have no other choice but to stay in. Everything about this place makes me sick, especially the people. The fact that they don't mind their own business irritates me to no end. The way they look at me with their judgmental eyes makes me want to scream. And then there's Mercy, my roommate, who's like a thorn in my flesh. "Stay away from my room, b***h!" I retorted as I walked into my room, the mess she made in my wardrobe staring at me. I should have gotten the lock on my door fixed the moment it broke. Then I wouldn't have to come back every day to find my room in a mess waiting for me to clean it up. I had just returned from my night shift and was looking forward to a few hours of sleep before my morning shift. However, Mercy had other plans. "It's not like you have any nice clothes in there, just out-of-season leather jackets and shorts you've been wearing for almost a decade. You should feel lucky I'm considering going through your trash." She stood in front of the door, holding a plate with fried plantain and pointing her fork at me as she spat out nonsense. "Go f**k yourself!" I slammed the door in her face, not concerned whether it hit her or not. "Remember who owns this house, you little s**t head. I can decide to throw you out anytime, and you can't do anything about it." She stood behind the closed door, her voice dripping with authority and I could make out the look of disdain on her face. Fuck her! I collapsed onto the bed, my gaze fixed on the ceiling. The weight of my troubles pressed down on me, and I couldn't help but wonder when this never-ending nightmare, which I call my life, would come to an end. The room felt suffocating, and the silence was deafening, amplifying my sense of despair. I really needed to leave this place. I was jolted awake by the blaring music coming from the living room. Furious and disoriented, I fumbled for my phone in the dark and checked the time – it was 3 a.m.! 3 f*****g a.m! I stormed out of my room, ready to confront Mercy the moment I set my eyes on her, but to my surprise, I found a drunken Mercy passed out on the couch, surrounded by empty bottles. She was snoring loudly, and the overwhelming smell of alcohol filled the room. As I stood there, frustrated and exhausted, watching Mercy sleep peacefully, I couldn't help but contemplate how to put an end to this recurring chaos. The thought of leaving her out on the porch even crossed my mind. After turning off the music, I returned to my room, but sleep eluded me. I ended up staying awake until 5 a.m., when I began preparing for my shift at the coffee shop. I walked out of my house and started my walk to the coffee shop where I work. It was 6:30 am, and the town was quiet and empty. The peacefulness of the morning was a welcome change from the chaos of my life. I enjoyed the solitude of the walk, with only my earphones and slow music for company. The annoying faces of my neighbors, who always spoiled my mood whenever I encountered them, were nowhere to be seen. It was just me, the music, and the beauty of the town. I arrived at the coffee shop, where my colleagues were already busy preparing for the day ahead. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and the sound of the espresso machine echoed throughout the shop. I dropped my bag in the designated area for employees and started my shift. After spending the next few hours serving customers and making coffee, I finally had a moment to sit down and enjoy a cup of coffee myself. The shop was bustling with activity, and the energy was contagious. I relished the fast-paced nature of the work and the fact that most of the people who came in that morning were polite. It was a refreshing change from the occasional encounters with judgmental individuals who seemed to take issue with my nose piercing. As I sipped my coffee, I couldn't help but appreciate the sense of camaraderie among the regular customers and the friendly banter that filled the air. It was moments like these that made the early morning walk to the coffee shop all the more worthwhile. As I observed the ebb and flow of customers in the coffee shop, each with their own unique story and purpose, one particular narrative captured my attention. It was the story of Amira Freeman, the daughter of the principal of the only high school in town. She was a regular, always coming in to buy coffee or hang out with her book club friends. Her cheerfuldemeanourr and contagious smile always left me wondering how a person could be so happy about life. But then, arumourr started circulating that her mother had run away with a teacher from the high school, and everything changed. I didn't see her at the coffee shop again after that, and I didn't think much of it until today. Everyone was talking about her nudes that had been leaked, both the customers and my colleagues. Even George, the guy who always had a story to tell, had posted the pictures in the w******p group. It was a stark reminder that even the happiest people can have their lives turned upside down in an instant. "I wish your body was half as good as hers; maybe then you would have landed yourself a man," George sneered, his words laced with mockery, as the others erupted into laughter. I knew he was referring to me, but I chose to rise above his taunts. Engaging in a war of words with him would only bring me down to his level, and I refused to stoop to that. As my shift at the coffee shop came to an end, I grabbed my bag and stepped out into the lively town. The sun was shining brightly, casting a warm glow over the bustling streets. Taking a deep breath, I felt a sense of contentment andfulfilmentt wash over me. I knew that I would be back the next day to do it all over again. However, After my shift at the coffee shop, I usually spent my break sleeping in the library before my night shift at the bar. Home was out of the question since Mercy had friends over, and I didn't want to walk in on them doing some nasty s**t. As the clock struck 1 a.m.,signallingg the end of my night shift at the bar, I stepped out into the cool, damp air. The streets were deserted, save for the sound of raindrops tapping against the pavement. As I made my way home, I noticed a figure walking aimlessly in the rain. It was Amira Freeman, barefoot and drenched, her eyes vacant and haunted, as if she had lost everything and was ready to succumb to the darkness. I hesitated for a moment, torn between my exhaustion and the urge to help her. Without a second thought, I approached her, my footsteps echoing in the empty street. "Are you okay?" I called out, my voice barely audible over the rain. She turned to face me, her expression devoid of emotion. "I am tired," she murmured, her words barely reaching my ears. I didn't have any experience with consoling people. Heck, I didn't even know how to console myself, so what was I to do in this situation? Nevertheless, I helped her move under a nearby shelter and studied her closely. She appeared to be a mere shell of her former self. I couldn't help but wonder what had caused such a drastic change. Her nudes had been exposed to almost everybody in town, and the relentless circulation and judgment from people seemed to have taken a heavy toll on her. "I sometimes feel like burning everything," I said. "I get angry at the thought of waking up to see my roommate's face or myneighbours or the wife of the Baker. They always have something to say about the way I dress or my piercings or how I will turn out like my parents and so on. At times, I hated being alive, but I am always grateful every morning when I wake up. It makes me look forward to a time when everything will be alright. I have learned not to give a damn about what others say, and it helps a lot. They could all burn in hell for all I care." "You don't need to give them the pleasure of seeing you in this state. If you end up dead, it won't change anything. Why should you give up on life because of these fuckers? I know it is difficult for you having your pictures everywhere and people staring and judging, but you should know that it isn't the end. You can always take control of the situation and come out stronger." I said to her, trying to console her. Damn! if only I could encourage myself like this. "No matter how much I said, it didn't change her mood," I thought to myself, feeling helpless as I tried to console her. Suddenly, she blurted out, Death," and stared at the dark part of the town. I followed her gaze, and in the dim light, I saw a figure approaching. It was Mr. Freeman, her father, looking distraught as he approached us. "Thank you for looking after her. I have been looking for her for a long time," he said, his eyes filled with sadness as he looked at his daughter, whose body was present, but her soul seemed to have left her. I realized that she was struggling with something deeper than I had understood. Her father's arrival shed light on the gravity of the situation. I felt a mix of emotions – concern for her well-being and frustration at my inability to fully comprehend her pain. As Mr. Freeman took her in his arms, I knew that she needed more help than I could provide.