BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!!!!!
A hand reached out from beneath the covers, groping blindly for the infernal device. It smacked the cheap desktop on either side, before the sheets rustled as the figure scooted closer to the desk. The hand came down just past the tool of sadists, with the figure's arm smack it's top, and the wrist striking the hard plastic edge. A muffled curse was spoken, as the figure finally gave up on the desired 5 more minutes, and threw off the sheets. The young man stretched, his lanky frame somewhat hidden in the dark of the room. He stretched widely, his arms pointed up and away from him, as an odd groan escaped from his lips. Eventually, his hand slammed down on the device that routinely destroys his dreams.
"Finally, it shut up. And I was having such a nice dream as well... Haa well, whatever. Not like such a stupid dream will ever come true. After all," his tone shifts, becoming both incredibly sarcastic and weary, as if he has heard this repeated thousands of times, and hates it just as much now he did the first time the words were spoken. "You're just a nice friend. I'm sure that the right girl will come _eventually, _but you just gotta be patient." His tone drops, becoming quiet, and somewhat scared, even. "But, what if that right girl never come...??"
He grunts in annoyance, and then begins to dress himself for his day. The black and gold polo hangs awkwardly off his frame, and his black slacks don't fit quite right either. The way his clothes fit, combined with his expression of 'I'm so fucking done' create a rather unappealing picture. Then, he approaches a mirror and straitens his stance, pulls back his shoulders slightly, and gives a small smile. The difference is quite surprising, as now he looks collected and in control of the situation. "Looks like I can still fake it."
With those words uttered, he turns and leaves his apartment, heading to his own personal hell. The place known to the rest of the world as the local bar & grill, Golden Stripes.
In the chaos of rush hour, the same man can be seen calmly walking the floors and dodging the swaying patrons as the stumble to the restroom. His relaxed, easy going smile is present on his, and seemingly completely natural. A man before him begins to trip over his feet, and he grabs the falling patron by the arm and steadies him. "Woah, you good buddy?" The drunkard looks slowly gazes into the man's eyes, a dumb smile on his face. "Thanksh, man." The employee just nods, and points the man to the restroom. Once the drunk patron is in the room, and out of his problem, the employee lets the general manager know that he is going on a short break, and sets outside.
After a quick walk to the back of the bar, the employee drops his facade. He stretches slowly, groaning with pleasure. In this space, between the dumpster and the rusty roof access, he can feel free. He pulls out his phone to answer a few texts that he had received, when a loud bang cuts through the night air. He jumps, and his gaze snaps towards a nearby alley. He freezes for a moment, then dashes towards the noise, his pulse racing, echoing in his ears.
When he arrives, he sees a man pointing a pistol at a well dressed woman, who has sunk to her knees in horror. The man's arm is shaky, the gun barrel swinging around wildly. The woman's gaze is locked on a slumped form at her feet, blood slowing pooling around the body. The manager bursts into action, moving without thought. He rushes towards the gunman, who swings his body and weapon towards the manager. There's a flash, as the gunman fires, but the manager feels nothing as he reaches the gun, and grabs his weapon. He violently jerks the gun so it points towards the sky, and then brutally slams his fist into the torso of the criminal. He drops to the ground, and the gun falls out of his hands. The manager relaxes for a moment, the pain flares in his abdomen, and he staggers to a wall. He curses, the his gaze snaps to the woman. "You! Call 911! Now!" The woman jumps, then with shaking hands pulls out her phone. She dials the number, and when it connects blurts out "There's people bleeding out!" Tears then begin to streak down her face as the reality of the situation sets in. The manager slides down the wall, both hands pressed against the bullet wound, desperately, futilely trying to stop the bleeding. The women on the lines takes a deep breath, and begins to speak again as the manager's gaze fades to black, and he slumps over. The last thing he hears is the wail of the sirens in the distance.