S'Agapo

My name is Laurel.

I live alone at home because I'm 18, and my parents are both dead. Don't think I'm morbid, or emo, or stupid. People tend to think rich kids aren't so great. And they're usually right. But I don't think I'm that awful. I am awful though- I'll admit that much.

Shockingly, I'm actually pretty smart, and I don't have much pierced except my ears. I love Frou Frou, the Killers and Coldplay, and I am extremely lonely.

Hatefully so to others.

But I don't care, because I believe that everyone who tries to talk to me is just doing it to pity me. And i don't need that. A good, long, blank, stare usually helps ward of those that don't get the hint. At home, I don't really talk to anyone except myself. Which is perfectly sane, I promise.

I was at my job at the Disney store, making friends with the shoppers when everything started.

A sweet smile usually lured them in - I wasn't the cashier wearing a mini-skirt and a low V-neck. I usually wore jeans and a t-shirt with Goofy's head on it. I even wore a Mickey-Mouse-club-hat, my hair tied back in a loose ponytail.

A little girl ran up to me, her grandfather behind her. He had a long gray beard, and he looked like he used to be a body builder because his 'muscles' were visible, even though it was evident that he wasn't a young guy.

"Hello," I said, letting the smile fall from my face, but still looking welcoming.

The little girl placed the items on the counter and said, "I wanta boui these stuff."

Every other girl would have thought that adorable. But I'd seen my share of adorable, and I'd seen better. I nodded and began to swipe the clothes, folding them and placing them in bags.

After they gave me the money, I said, "Have a nice day", smiled once more, and waited for them to leave.

They didn't.

The old man stared at me long and hard. "Is there something you need sir?" I asked politely, trying to make him leave without being rude.

He stared at me a moment longer before replying, "No, no nothing is wrong. I was just surprised, my sweet," he smiled and left the store, his grand daughter clutching his pant leg.

After work, even as I drove home, I couldn't forget that old man. He was so weird, and his voice was so much younger than his face.

'My sweet?' I wondered. 'Who calls me 'my sweet'?'

I parked my car in my driveway and opened my door. I threw my hat on the floor, kicked off my shoes, collapsed face-down on my couch. I closed my eyes, fell asleep. And I vanished into a sweet dream about golden-haired perfection. The dream I'd been having since last week...