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288 pages, Paperback
First published March 26, 2019
So this is how it feels to take a man’s life. Forced to kill for one’s own survival.
I looked down at the puddle of blood by my feet, locking eyes with my own reflection. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. How’d I get here? I was just a dude who worked at the grocery store.
Now here I was, standing over a man I murdered.
“Mia, let’s get out of here, the store’s about to close,” I said.
“Chill, Flynn, we work here, and I need to find the perfect pomegranate,” she said.
“Mia, let’s go, I’m hungry,” I said, pulling her forward with my arm.
“Flynn, Jesus, okay.”
“Do you listen to Tame Impala?” she asked.
“No, never heard of them,”I said, shaking my head.
“You’re kidding me!! You haven’t listened to Currents?!?” she yelled.
“Haha, nah, I haven’t. Is it any good?”
She stared blankly at me.
“Is it any good? ‘Is it ANY GOOD?’ HE SAYS! It’s amazing, Flynn. A true modern classic! I’ll have to grab you a copy from the Vinyl Village.”
“Oh, I love that place!”
She was an absolute beauty! A twenty-five-year-old, Spanish-speaking, tan-skinned, 5'6" supermarket model with jet-black hair; an amazing body; a warm, welcoming energy; and a radiating smile. She was the only thing in the entire store that felt real. She was a combination of Jessica Alba and Rashida Jones. Random mixture, I know, but damn, was she gorgeous.
I felt hopeless. Not even sad. Just nothing. I couldn’t even cry. The thought of writing was an unimaginable feat. It was a depression so low and flat that I couldn’t even envision suicide as a solution.
At that moment, everything around me began to flicker, as though the lights were being sucked from the room, then instantaneously brought back. My hearing became muffled, then ceased altogether. A high-frequency pitch shot into my head, like in those old war movies when a soldier experiences shell shock. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion and yet superfast at the same time.
I have used words and creative freedom to better myself. Whoever may be reading these words, I hope you have the courage to do the same through any form of creative expression. It has been a long road, but I too, finally, have escaped the supermarket.
"What do you mean?" I asked, not quite sure what she meant.I wish this were an exception, but it's the rule. The dialogue is stiff and artificial. The characters are dull and one-dimensional. The descriptions are okay, but uninspired.