My Mind Can't Take Much More

The morning sun slid it's rays between the cracks in my curtains and almost blinded me before I got up and closed my curtains. I really wasn't a morning person. I mean, every once in a while it was fun to wake up and early and make an awesome breakfast, but that was a once a year kind of thing for me.

I looked at the clock and realized it said 12:00 pm. I usually sleep really late, so this was nothing for me. I walked over to my table with my large mirror and sat down to examine myself for the day to come.

My eyes were a light blue color, but not as blue as my fathers. They had a small ring of brown around the iris and then faded to the pale blue. My hair was like my mothers, long and chocolate brown waves that fell to the middle of my back, which wasn't as long as my mothers. My frame was thin, and my body only came to about five feet and three inches. My father always told me how much I looked like my mother. I had her cheekbones, and the shape of her face and eyes.

I can't say that I was one-hundred percent happy with my body, but I was happy about some parts of it. I soon rummaged around my room for some clothes and went down stairs and found something I like to call food. I found some leftover pizza and popped it into our extremely old microwave. It was just this brown box that sat to the right of our stove. It was so ancient that instead of having buttons to put in your desired time, there was a dial that you turned. I thought in was kind of interesting. What can I say? I like vintage things.

I soon found my brother sitting on the couch in our living room reading some book that I'm pretty sure he shouldn't be reading. I walked over to him and bent down at my waist and but my forehead on top of his head so our eyes made a right angle.

“What-cha reading?” I asked with a look of curiosity.

“Nothing,” he replied bluntly but then he gave a little giggle and looked up at me.

“It can't be nothing if you are giggling like a little girl.”

I looked down at the cover and realized it said “Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas: A Savage Journey To The Heart Of The American Dream.” I was curious to see what it is. “Mind if I see it?” I asked.

“Sure...” he paused as I stood up straight, “but don't tell dad.”

“Why can't I tell dad? You know he doesn't care what we read.” I said. My father really doesn't care about what we read. He doesn't see the reason to shelter us from the world. He believes that sheltering your children will just lead your child to not realize what happens in this world and they will get a form of “culture shock” when they get out into the real world. That's his philosophy anyway.

“I know,” Evan replied, “but this book is bad.”

“It can't be that bad,” I said as he handed it to me and I sat down next to him and began reading the back cover.

The book had to do something about a journalist and a lawyer that drive to Las Vegas with a ton of drugs and get high the whole time. I like it. “Can I read it when you're don?” I asked while handing it back to him.

“Sure,” he replied with a blank look.

“I'm not going to tell Dad, Ev.” I said, “Besides, he doesn't care what we read. He doesn't see the point in sheltering us. You could literally wave that book around in his face and he wouldn't care one bit.”

“You're right, thanks Hazel,” he replied with a smile.

“You're welcome, Bud.” I replied with a gentle nudge to his shoulder.



The hours soon passed and it was time for me to unfortunately go to work. Our gas station was open all night. My shift was from four to eleven tonight, like it usually is. I put on my Stauffer's Stop 'N Go uniform and headed out for my car. The drive wasn't even that long. It was about five minuets to get from my house to the tiny gas station.

As soon as I arrived at Stauffer's I walked in and saw my co-worker, Greg. He was a slender, but very tall individual. His body stood to be about six feet and five inches tall. He had short blonde hair that was spiked all around his head and striking brown eyes set in the middle of a pale face. He was a pleasant guy, but he could have a short temper when agitated.

“Hey Hazel, in for your shift?” he asked me, looking up from a magazine.

“Yeah, I am.” I said as he was already walking out the door. He threw me the keys for all of the doors and register.

“Have fun,” he said while the door hit slammed shut.

I was once again alone in a gas station with only the costumers who come in to keep me company. Oh well, I usually find something to make it fun.



I mean, being here wasn't so bad, you didn't really have much to do except check orders out when people come in. It's not that big of a deal. Not a lot of people come in very often, it's ok though. I don't really mind.

I was about three hours into my shift when an old lady, Mrs. Dawson came in buying cat food. She was so old, I'm just waiting for her to die everyday. She was the sweetest little old thing though. She always had a smile on her face and came in every Thursday buying food for her cats.

She checked out and while she was walking out, a familiar face walked in. Johnny, from last night. He walked up to the counter and gave me a smile.

“You see, I told you I would see you around,” he said keeping his hands in his pockets of his tan jacket.

“Mhhhm, you were right one time. You a fortune teller now?” I asked with a grin.

“Oh, no. Just a guy with a good instinct,” he said smirking again.

“We'll see,“ I said.

“Oh, will we? What's that suppose to mean?” he asked.

“Exactly what I said. There's no other way around 'we'll see'.”

“There could be the 'hey we'll see what the future holds' or there's the 'hey I don't want to answer you right now so I'm just going to say “well see” we'll see'.”

He had a point. “Let's go with the first one.”

“Good, I like that one way better than the second one.”

“I like that one better too.” I replied.