At this moment everyone in the world is doing same thing. What is it?
Getting Older.
It lit up the entire complex with its bright sunset color scheme. It shimmered above all other buildings that existed beneath it. And at the top, a great big hand had personally descended from the skies to personally sign it in a dark red flourish—Cheesecake Hæven.
It seemed to have good business too. Every time Anne drove by there would be a ridiculously long line that winded around the entire block. She had never tasted their cakes, but she had heard good things about them.
"It's truly the heavenly experience," commented one food critic on television.
But that was all that could be said about this mysterious bakery. Nobody that Anne knew had been able to get inside, and she had never entered the building to investigate for herself. She even suspected that nobody had actually tasted their cakes. It was as if, Anne liked to think from time to time, that the people fed themselves off the rumors instead of the actual cakes itself.
Anne clicked her heels together and examined the tips of her shoes with more curiosity than normal. She fiddled with the curly phone cord as she half-listened to her mother's chatter, taking care to occasionally inject a clipped response to feign her interest.
"Anne, darling, can you pick up one those cakes from Cheesecake Haven on your way home?"
"Do you have any idea how long it'll take? You know how crowded it is." Anne frowned. "Can't you just get one from the local bakery or something?"
A sigh crackled through the receiver end of the telephone. "Victoria insisted specifically it had to be from Cheesecake Hæven, and you know how stubborn she is..."
"I have a paper for Humanities and a midterm for Sociology to study for."
"I know, honey. I know how college cuts from your free time but just humor her, okay? She's been feeling under the weather lately…" Anne snorted at the attempt at a guilt appeal. Nobody ever said it—not directly, anyway—but they didn't need to. Anne's grandmother was dying. Somehow her ailing health gave her authority to issue the most ridiculous of errands.
How many euphemisms there were for one's incoming death?
"—and how she stinks up the entire house with those god-awful Camel Lights!" Anne could imagine her wearied mother rubbing her temples.
"Alright, alright. I'll do it. I'll be home by eight then, I suppose."
Anne hung up. Even on her eve of her deathbed that stubborn old lady would still be puffing away on those damned cigarettes.
Squinting under the afternoon sun, Anne tried to get a count of how many people were ahead of her. Eighty, maybe even a hundred people. At least that's how it seemed—the entrance door was the size of a pinpoint from the back of the line.
Perhaps waiting in line wasn't interesting in itself, but it was a fascinating phenomenon to observe. It was even awkward, to have so many people gathered in one location nobody spoke. Single filed, like little headstones they faced forward and only forward, who were only interested in one objective. Anne gazed at all these strangers of all various shapes and sizes, all these people with whom she had nothing in common.
Except one thing.
Anne shifted her weight from her left foot to her right foot and thought about her own life. It was a pity for her itching feet to be stuck when they could be moving. All this work had piled onto her, all she wanted was to move forward and reach a stage of life where she could finally relax, but she knew the future would only meet her with more work. There was so little free time on her hands—out of all the things she could be doing right now, she was wasting her time waiting in line for her grandmother!
Life was always moving forward. Whether it was by machine or by foot there was no time to stop in a society like this. That's all life was about: a competition to see who had the best ideas, who had the best looks, and most significant of all, who was the most important. In an innovative society sustained by fossil fuel, humanity propelled itself forward like an insatiable monster that could not feed itself fast enough. There was no time to stop, even if somebody succumbed to such pressure. There was no time to waste for people who could not keep up with the times; the world was too busy looking out for itself to stop and look back to see who they had hurt in their eager stampede forward.
A hour or so later Anne had only moved five spaces. At least it seemed like an hour or so. More people filed behind her. Wheeling around, Anne found herself facing a young woman in her mid-twenties in a lab coat. Her thick brown hair piled around her shoulders.
"Excuse me," Anne said. "Do you know how Cheesecake Haven works? Is there a special reservation process or something? It'd be a shame if I waited all this time for nothing."
"I've never been inside," the woman admitted. "This is my first time. I've heard good things about their pastries though."
"Really? It's mine too. Are you a doctor?" Anne asked, with a curious glance at her attire.
"I was a pharmacist." The woman smiled. "I'm Carol Rogers. Nice to meet you—"
"Anne Reeds." She extended and her hand and Ms. Rogers took it.
"Anne," Ms. Rogers repeated. "Why, your hands are so warm!"
Anne chuckled nervously, unsure if that was supposed to be a compliment. "I'm a student at the university four blocks down from here. Majoring in sociology."
"How interesting! I was in chemistry in my college years."
Anne noticed a ring glittering on her hand. "Wow, are you engaged?"
Ms Rogers's face darkened a shade and her eyes glinted under the sunlight. "I was."
"When'd he pop the question?" A third man who stood behind Ms. Rogers entered the conversation. If Anne ever imagined her father, she was sure it would resemble him, only this man was younger. Perhaps it was his even-natured look, his blue-collar, and jeans that faded at the knees that reminded Anne of her father.
"About a week or so ago, I think."
"Congratulations!" said the man. He also extended his hand to Ms. Rogers, and then to Anne. "Jon. Jon Collins. Was a proud husband of three years and father of two little girls."
"What about you, Anne?" Ms. Rogers inquired. "Did you have a boyfriend?"
Anne flushed a little. "N-no, I've no time—school and such, you see."
Mr. Collins clucked his tongue sympathetically. "That's a shame."
Silence. Anne awkwardly buttoned and unbuttoned her coat.
Ms. Rogers looked to the front of the line and sighed. "Cheesecake Haven's really popular, huh?"
"Have you tried their cakes, Jon?" asked Anne.
"No. First time, see. I can't wait—I've heard good things about their pastries, though."
Anne nodded. "I've heard that as well."
Ms. Rogers turned to Mr. Collins. "How did you end up here?"
"Got caught in a machine at the car factory." He grimaced. "Fractured my spine."
"Better than being raped and then clubbed in the skull," said Ms. Rogers dully. "What about you, Anne?"
Anne stared at these two strangers and wondered how they could sustain such injuries yet still look so unharmed.
"I'm—I'm just buying a cake for my grandmother. I normally wouldn't do this, but she hasn't long to live so—"
Carol frowned. "Then shouldn't she be here?"
"But she's not dead yet," John reasoned.
They moved up three more spaces. Three more spaces closer to experiencing the heavenly bliss that its cake was widely reputed for. Three more spaces closer to entering the famed Cheesecake Haven that people entered but never exited. Three more spaces closer to their final destination, where everything finally ended.
Fin.