Baby Crabs And Pills
The man was sullen. He didn't seem the type to have enough money to eat here, but then again all money is good money to a business like this.
It was a day like any other for him. He'd woke from the same bed, put on the same uniform and left work with the same grimace, only to come again once more for dinner.
He sat in the dim waiting room with buzzer in hand. There was little to the device. He supposed, rigged right, someone could die from this...
But that was a thought he always had when sitting, waiting for the simple device to give him reason to stand up, give him reason to move. For that, reason to feel he exists.
The blue simple crab on it mocked him, told him things he already knew. That he was worthless. That he was the world's blemish and that the world would be better without him. That it was time for him to go to his table.
He stood up and looked at the person at the desk. He was assaulted with the smile he knew so well, except it didn't quite end up filling him with his malice for such a happy being as it use to be.
Perhaps because the smile didn't seem to reach her eyes today.
In any case, he followed the blonde haired woman to a booth lit by a single small dim stage light.
"What can I start you off with, J-"
The waitress cheerily started before he cut her off.
"The same I get every night, ma'am." He replied simply with an edge of irritation and a glare.
She cringed a little and nodded, walking off to get him a glass of pear wine.
He looked over the menu, deciding to be different today to celebrate the small difference in his old routine. He picked a salad with extra mozzarella.
It came out with fresh baby lettuce coated in a red wine vinaigrette. The man had always thought young things to be quite hideous at times, the shriveled looking leafs being no exception, made beautiful by the fact they represented something along the lines of a wondrous beginning.
These thoughts brought him to the all the births he'd witness and was destined to witness. It all seemed rather pointless in retrospect, given that everything was to also end.
This was certainly not something he gives the appearance of, infact he hadn't openly talked about it since infancy. Most people can't speak baby, yet really he knew it fluently from the fact he use to write poetry when he was quite little. Most of it was random things a baby would write, plans to take over the world, war stories...
But his poetry was different, for it foretold of a man who's seen life die a thousand times over in his life. Truth is he had indeed, but that's beside the point.
At that moment he was snapped out of his reminiscent train of thought by the same blonde woman placing another plate before him, this being a rather rigid looking shell, despite the fact it seemed abit young to be consumed. Then again, such things could be misleading of a long and horrid life.
This concept he himself knew well. He hardly looked 20 years himself, barely be fitting of the man he was.
He'd helped thousands yet left a million dead, and he himself was left on his last legs, not that anyone would remember him.
He rather liked that fact though...
The fact all his injustices would go nameless.
He picked at the shell, cracking it easily without breaking it with his fork. The intruding feeling of poking at the meat through the shell fascinated him. It was no wonder his assistants loved to crack his own shell.
After 12 major punctures, the insides were revealed, a beaten beautiful succulent meat quite pitiful to look at. Pitiful to think that it'd met its end so soon yet in retrospect it had probably been about middle aged in a sense.
One would hardly wish such a young stage in retrospect to be middle age, he thought, then again he hadn't had much to himself. From the start he'd been foretold to die young, the twelfth cycle of his life.
As soon as he had finished eating what he'd so eagerly labeled his weakness, the flower named waitress came back to replace it with his usual dessert.
He sat there in eager anticipation of what was to come, the sweet short lived release of this life's evening. Though he was slightly scared of it, for reasons he kept to himself and you probably couldn't get out of him had you talked to him before this.
His eyes widened a little when he saw it, it did infact look as glamorous as it tasted, a mini red velvet cake topped with a huge, by comparison anyway, scoop of ice cream topped with raspberry sauce. And always his ex-partner likely filled the center with some treat, something befitting of the hero she saw him as.
He got a spoon full of the mix, making sure to save the center for last. Quite frankly, he didn't even like ice cream, red velvet cake, nor raspberry flavored things, he just got the dessert so he could see what thing she had hid in the man's cake anyway.
As he 'cracked open' his dessert, he found a candy casing.
"Hmm..." He hummed aloud to no one but himself, as if anyone could've heard him over the low murmuring ambiance, cracking it open with his steak knife carefully for the sheer effect.
Inside lay a perfectly made rose made of molded jelly bean, causing a tear to come from his eye. The memories of adventures passed and a goddess like grin flashed before his eye, the pain becoming too much.
He scribbled two words on a napkin then struck a deep gash against his chest. At the shocked scream of a nearby diner, the waitress came back and picked up the napkin.
Written on it were two words quite simple and clear of their meaning:
Sorry Rose.