Futile Worries

An un extraordinary experience in a restaurant that touches me to the core and gives me unshakable fear.

I am a witness to the un extraordinary. It is a setting completely familiar. The tall dark skinned woman enters the arching doorway of the restaurant with what I would assume to be her debonair boyfriend. He is clean shaven but complete with dreadlocks that apply a certain boorishness to the polished look. 

In the center of the restaurant sits a table of six. Two tables conjoined, its people exhibiting an air of camaraderie as they continue on with their nonsensical chatter. They talk with what I would assume "teen lingo," something I have no hope of ever comprehending despite being a teen. It seems to change each year from joshing to capping and so on. 

I observe the back of the restaurant, a new air of aroma reaching my nose as I whip my head around. A young family feeds their small child, pleading and negotiating with them to eat their broccoli. Their dynamic is different from the other customers, using gentle words and sitting with tight-knit togetherness. 

Non of their futile nomenclature phases me for I am the observer, who sits amidst a perfectly normal family whose heads hang low spearing their food with forks and chewing hungrily. 

I cannot become a participant. My anxiety runs unbridled and series of worse case scenarios run through my mind. It is a cancer not of the lungs but a horror of the mind. 

Since I have entered, subconsciously my mind had mapped out the exit routes out in the case of a hostage situation. I keep in hindsight the worrying fact that my father has parked his cart within a lot, not on the street. 

Despite no sign of ever having to go through such an ordeal, I cannot prevent myself. 

As I sink into the abyss of shadows, paranoia runs rampant like a tinge of cholera. The difference being there is no cure for my state. I try to solve the puzzle of my life, to find the right level to pull, the right button to push to get back to the happy and productive state I was in, replete with the lacking of senseless worries.

But as I try to push my concerns out of my mind, one final thought remains. The single what if: Of perhaps finding myself in an odious situation many years in the future. Then my repentance will be unacceptable. So I hang on to these thoughts despite knowing there is a door which will let the light in. 

Reviews

[Vertigo Cat1111]

As you read this, the anxiety and tension build up and I love that. The way it's written is truly brilliant and the inner voice is relatable and honest and each word you use adds layers to this. You grow to care for the narrator through the short story more and more. I really loved this, it was an amazing piece and I hope you keep writing!

[Miss Sharon]

Brilliant writing here. I believe that you may have a great future in story telling! ~Sharon

[Samuel Dickens]

I suppose today's headlines might cause many to develop such a paranoia, what with all the senseless killings going on. Grocery stores, theaters, or cafes--no where can be considered completely safe. Still, we must try to carry on with living. The narrator in this story at least recognizes an open door.

[Aeon Thanatos]

I believe this piece was presented in a very unique way. It feels like the inner voice of a young teenage narrator but it talks more and more about the narrator as the narration continues. With various takes on their surroundings, the narrator keeps their audience on something monotonous and un-extraordinary as the author states it.

Overall, its a great piece.