Night Zero

I sat alone in the darkness of my room, as usual. The scent of sweaty, forgotten laundry and half-eaten, week-old pizza crusts filled the four walls and curled up into my nostrils like a snake coiling into its burrow. I didn't mind much, since the smell has been lingering there for a while now. My mother usually does the laundry and cleans my room, but I guess she's starting to get tired of me sitting on my ass and playing video games all day. Even I'm starting to get tired of it. I'm almost twenty-two, living with my mom, and I've never worked a day in my life… I guess that says a lot about me. I don't like people enough to live around them, let alone have to deal with constant customers and their annoying, contrived concerns. It isn't for me.

The sounds of bleeps and blips as I glued myself to the screen seemed to echo around my quiet living space. My thumbs were starting to get sore after playing for hours on end. My dreary, blue eyes have, what I assume are permanent, dark purple circles around them. Have you ever been so tired, yet did nothing all day to warrant such a feeling of exhaustion? Well, that's me every single day. Stay up until the asscrack of dawn and sleep until late afternoon. I dropped out of high school when I was seventeen after getting into fights with everyone. After that, I figured I could do whatever I wanted when I wanted, like sit around and do nothing all day. There was nothing else to do with my life. I have no aspirations, no goals for a career… absolutely nothing. I guess you could call me a loser, but if you do, I can't promise that you'll have all of your teeth afterward.

"Michael!" My mom screeched from the other side of my door. Her voice was like the high-pitched wail of a hawk. My friends would call her The Banshee. "Michael, what are you doing?"

"The same as usual, ma," I called back, pausing my game to hear what she has to say.

"Can I come in?" She responded. Usually she never asks and just barges right in like any mother would. She flicked on the light, causing my eyes to shoot with pain. After spending hours in the dark, the light was blinding to me.

When my eyes finally adjusted to the light, I saw my mother standing in front of me. She was covering her nose, shielding it from the wretched odor of my room. She was holding something. A newspaper?

"Michael, it's time to get your lazy ass out of my house and working," she stated bluntly, without hesitation. "I love you, dear, but you can't spend all of your life playing video games and swimming in filth. You can't make a living off of that."

"Watch me," I sneered, looking back at the television screen.

"Mike, I'm serious. Look at this," mom sighed, her red lips contorting into a frown. She unrolled the newspaper and shoved it in my face.

The smell of fresh ink on the grainy newsprint paper quickly clawed its way into my nose like a groundhog digging its way up to the surface. It smelled a lot nicer than my room. The job ad page was full of jobs that I had no interest in. Cleanup crew? I can't even clean my room. Customer service associate? I hate people. I shrugged and raised a brow, shooting my mother a look of utter confusion. She rolled her sapphire eyes and promptly pointed to one specific ad that had a friendly looking bear wearing a top hat and a bowtie next to words that read:

"HELP WANTED

Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria

Family pizzeria looking for security guard to work the night shift. 12 am to 6 am.

Monitor cameras, ensure safety of equipment and animatronic characters.

Not responsible for injury/dismemberment.

$120 a week.

To apply call:

1-888-FAZ-FAZBEAR"

I read it over several times, making sure every word processed in my mind. Not responsible for injury/dismemberment? What the hell is that supposed to mean?

"See, Mike? It's right up your alley! You don't have to deal with people, it's all night, and all you have to do is sit and monitor some cameras. You're used to staring at a monitor anyways!" Mom shouted, ecstatic about finding this job for me. I guess she's right. This job is something even a lazy sack of shit like myself could do. Piece of cake. "Give 'em a call now, I'm sure the night shift guy will pick up and write your stuff down."

"Alright, ma," I said, reaching for the phone in my room. I pulled it off the hook and started to dial the number. I hated talking on the phone, but I had no other option. The phone rang several times until a voice finally picked up the other line.

"Uhh, hello? Hello hello?" The voice asked hesitantly. He seemed busy. I cleared my throat and began to speak.

"Uh, hi," I responded. "I'm calling to apply for the night guard position."

"Oh, hello! Sure thing, uhh, just leave your name and number and I'll leave it on the desk for the manager."

"Sure, no problem. My name is Mike Schmidt, and my phone number is 832-991-8290."

"Thank you, Mike. Uh, the manager should call you tomorrow morning and have you come in for an interview right away. I'm finishing up my last week, and uh, we need a new guy," the guy on the phone said. I heard a loud banging in the background, followed by some static. "Hey, listen, I gotta go. See you soon!" The guard hung up on me.

"Well?" My mom asked, hovering over me.

"The guy said the manager's gonna call me tomorrow morning, so I guess I should go to bed," I smiled widely. A job where I don't have to do anything but look at monitors and sit around? It was practically made for me. I got up from my chair and lounged back in my bed, shrouding myself in the covers.

"Goodnight, sweetie," mom kissed my forehead and excitedly hurried to the door. "Remember to shower and dress nicely."

"You got it," I gave her a thumbs up and rested my head on the pillow, closing my eyes as the blinding lights disappeared and the room returned to its darkened state. I didn't think I could ever be so excited for a job. I couldn't wait to wake up.