Sequel: The Nephew of a Dead Artist ›
Six Feet Underground
MIKEY!
As one would do when one's hand is burning from freash, hot coffee being poured on one's hand, I droped the cup. It landed on the floor and the contents when everywhere, soaking into my shoes, soaking into my socks and making my feet burn.
I turned on the water and stuck my red, throbbing hand underneath the running water. It stung bad as the cold water rushed over my skin, cooling it down.
"Shit! Are you alright??" the guy asked me, a concerned look on his face as I turned to nod.
"Y-yeah. I'm just a little out of it today," I replied shakily. I quickly, but carefully, made his coffee corectly and handed it to him.
"Thank you," I heard him say as I kneeled down to clean up my mess.
All I could think about was the guy. He was so fimiliar. He sounded so fimiliar. But I knew that I didn't know him. He just reminded me of someone close to me. But who?
I watched him from the counter as he sat down in one of the booths, pulling a book out of his bag that I had just noticed was next to him. I read the cover: Three Tales Of A Chemical Romance.
Hmm, good books.
For the next few months he kept coming back at the same time, 6 sharp. He would order the same thing, black coffee, and sit at the table for the same amount of time. His books changed though. For a few days it would be various Irvine Welsh books, then it would go to some J.K. Rowling books, then to Lemony Snicket, then to comics. It was the same rotation. I often woundered if he ever got board from reading the same things over and over, but each time he would come in for his coffee, he never looked board reading those books.
Occasionally he would come up to the counter and talk to me if there were few costomers in. We talked more and more frequently now. I'm still not sure if thats good or bad. I learned a lot about him. His name was Mikey, he was my age and he talked highly of his brother. He never mentioned his brother's name or what happened to him, but all I know is that he hasn't seen him since he was 10 or 11.
He was kind. Oh, God, was he kind. Everytime some new books came in, he would help me put them on their shelves, talking adimently about what was happening in the book he was reading now. He was a big reader. He had read more books that anyone could in their life. I told him this. His responce was a simple, "When I had to move, their was not much to do around the house since he wasn't there. My Aunt had a large library, you see. She had thousands of books. I would spend days sitting in there reading till my eyes hurt."
Mikey was a great guy to be around in the boring hours of work. He would entertain me with puzzles he had a hard time figureing out, he loved doing the crosswords in the paper. He would come every Sunday with the paper and pencil in his bag, ready for the hours we would spend trying to figure out what the heck haute' cotour ment. (AN: It was mentioned in the Bert and Gee Q and A's.. so i just had to use it...)
Today was different though, Mikey was late, my boss was pissed at me for being late yet agian, I had just nearly missed getting fired, almost got hit by a bus this morning and to top it all off, I just had to slam my finger in my car door! Damn today sucks!
My morning was brightened when Mikey came, though. I smiled and began to make his coffee. He no longer needed to order, I made it the second I seen him entering the shop.
Today, Mikey wasn't smiling or carrying his book in his hand, reading for an hour or two of reading. He was carrying a news paper, not out of the ordanary. But the thing that was, was the tears that were slipping down his face.
"Oh my god! Mikey what's wrong?" I asked, coming out from behind the counter.
He didn't answer me. He just walked over to his booth and sat down, the paper in front of him. I grabbed his coffee and placed it down next to the paper. Mikey ignored it. That was not like his at all, he never passed up a chance to drink the stuff.
I sat down opposite of him. "Mikey? Are-are you okay?" I asked timidly.
He shook his head in responce. I was puzzled as to why he was sobbing slightly. He never seemed like the person that would just let their feelings out to anyone, you had to build up a lot of trust for them to be able to confide in you.
I was getting the sence that right now, Mikey didn't want to be crying in front of me, but he had no control of that.
I glanced down at the paper that lie in front of him on the table. I gasped as I read the headline. No way!
I WILL NOT be posting any more chapters untill three DIFFERENT people coment on this story...
xoxo
S
I turned on the water and stuck my red, throbbing hand underneath the running water. It stung bad as the cold water rushed over my skin, cooling it down.
"Shit! Are you alright??" the guy asked me, a concerned look on his face as I turned to nod.
"Y-yeah. I'm just a little out of it today," I replied shakily. I quickly, but carefully, made his coffee corectly and handed it to him.
"Thank you," I heard him say as I kneeled down to clean up my mess.
All I could think about was the guy. He was so fimiliar. He sounded so fimiliar. But I knew that I didn't know him. He just reminded me of someone close to me. But who?
I watched him from the counter as he sat down in one of the booths, pulling a book out of his bag that I had just noticed was next to him. I read the cover: Three Tales Of A Chemical Romance.
Hmm, good books.
For the next few months he kept coming back at the same time, 6 sharp. He would order the same thing, black coffee, and sit at the table for the same amount of time. His books changed though. For a few days it would be various Irvine Welsh books, then it would go to some J.K. Rowling books, then to Lemony Snicket, then to comics. It was the same rotation. I often woundered if he ever got board from reading the same things over and over, but each time he would come in for his coffee, he never looked board reading those books.
Occasionally he would come up to the counter and talk to me if there were few costomers in. We talked more and more frequently now. I'm still not sure if thats good or bad. I learned a lot about him. His name was Mikey, he was my age and he talked highly of his brother. He never mentioned his brother's name or what happened to him, but all I know is that he hasn't seen him since he was 10 or 11.
He was kind. Oh, God, was he kind. Everytime some new books came in, he would help me put them on their shelves, talking adimently about what was happening in the book he was reading now. He was a big reader. He had read more books that anyone could in their life. I told him this. His responce was a simple, "When I had to move, their was not much to do around the house since he wasn't there. My Aunt had a large library, you see. She had thousands of books. I would spend days sitting in there reading till my eyes hurt."
Mikey was a great guy to be around in the boring hours of work. He would entertain me with puzzles he had a hard time figureing out, he loved doing the crosswords in the paper. He would come every Sunday with the paper and pencil in his bag, ready for the hours we would spend trying to figure out what the heck haute' cotour ment. (AN: It was mentioned in the Bert and Gee Q and A's.. so i just had to use it...)
Today was different though, Mikey was late, my boss was pissed at me for being late yet agian, I had just nearly missed getting fired, almost got hit by a bus this morning and to top it all off, I just had to slam my finger in my car door! Damn today sucks!
My morning was brightened when Mikey came, though. I smiled and began to make his coffee. He no longer needed to order, I made it the second I seen him entering the shop.
Today, Mikey wasn't smiling or carrying his book in his hand, reading for an hour or two of reading. He was carrying a news paper, not out of the ordanary. But the thing that was, was the tears that were slipping down his face.
"Oh my god! Mikey what's wrong?" I asked, coming out from behind the counter.
He didn't answer me. He just walked over to his booth and sat down, the paper in front of him. I grabbed his coffee and placed it down next to the paper. Mikey ignored it. That was not like his at all, he never passed up a chance to drink the stuff.
I sat down opposite of him. "Mikey? Are-are you okay?" I asked timidly.
He shook his head in responce. I was puzzled as to why he was sobbing slightly. He never seemed like the person that would just let their feelings out to anyone, you had to build up a lot of trust for them to be able to confide in you.
I was getting the sence that right now, Mikey didn't want to be crying in front of me, but he had no control of that.
I glanced down at the paper that lie in front of him on the table. I gasped as I read the headline. No way!
I WILL NOT be posting any more chapters untill three DIFFERENT people coment on this story...
xoxo
S