Lita lived alone. Her whole life was an unbroken routine, just like most people around her. Only that she minded it more than others did. Still, she began this morning the same way she always did – at the local supermarket, where the endless beeps never failed to leave her in a trance, with ringing ears and numb fingers.
Queues dragged on, like the quartz clock’s tick to its next destination. Five minutes before five o’clock, she waved the last customer away without a word, and endured the resultant sour look. It affected her none. Her empty mind commanded her to stare ahead, as she slammed the ‘Counter Closed’ sign down louder than she needed to.
She waited patiently for the customer to stomp off after promising an unfulfilled threat. It was one that she had heard too many times before. Then, she started to lock up the cash drawers, as a faceless someone once taught her to. These habitual motions took no more, and no less, than two full minutes.
Once that was through, she smiled for the first time this day. She delighted in the idea of doing something that she had never done before. She meandered along the familiar aisles of her second home. Certain that no one was watching, she began slipping whatever could fit into her jacket pockets.
Her heart raced. She felt good. Alive. Out the sliding doors she walked and never stopped, until she reached the doorstep of her old, dingy apartment at 6. This was the house, where Lita lived alone.
She had lived here for as long as she could remember. Her father had once been her companion, but it did not last long. Cancer took him away, leaving her house silent as a grave. He neither smoked nor drank, and after many sleepless nights, she became convinced that the water supply was radioactive. She drank from it anyway. What was she to do?
One thing that kept Lita from her dark thoughts, was music. As she picked up her father’s guitar, her fingers ran freely and led themselves. Sometimes, there was melody she intended. Oftentimes, it was simply shoddy and chance. When that failed to lift her spirits, she recalled something else that might.
She put down her guitar and dug into her pockets. An apple and some candy bars fell from her left pocket. Two lighters and a crumpled pack of cigarettes, from the right. She did not smoke, but what did it matter? All she sought was the thrill and the solace of a broken routine. She gained both.
Then, she dropped everything to the floor. She did not know why she started to cry. Her breaking down was never part of her plan. Yet it eased into her schedule without fail, like a ceremonial instinct.
Daily Prompt: Trance
Methods of Escape © 2017 by Jade A. All rights reserved.