One-Shot, Shorts, And Ponderings - 2. Writing's on the Wall

"Tall vanilla latte, extra pump pf vanilla, three sugars, lactose-free milk please."

"Would you like to try one of our new scones?"

"No, thanks. Just the latte."

The machines whir around Lola, the bean grinder grinds, the doorbell pings as another customer enters the small establishment. She is tired of being on her feet, tired of hearing the orders pour in, tired of writing names on cups that await filling. She loved the smell coffee as she was growing up, the heady scent that seemed to push all other smells right out of the room. That love had soured and gone so long ago, probably right after the 100th cappuccino she'd served to some prissy little teenager gaggle of girls.

"Lola, break time." Marta's voice calls through the headset permanently attached to her ear. She finishes the two orders she's just taken and walks through the small "staff only" door at the far right corner of the store.

"Don't be too long, Corey and Vanessa still haven't taken their breaks yet."

"Yes Marta."

Lola steps to the back of the store, the alleyway has always smelled like trash and hot cement, but she likes the solitude it provides her. She leans against the wall opposite the door and pulls out a cigarette, a habit she knows she should leave behind. The sound of the lighter igniting draws all of her focus, it's a moment where only the cigarette, the lighter, and her need participate. She can hear the paper crackling as the fire begins to consume it; Lola takes a long, deep drag, inhaling as much of the nicotine-laced smoke as possible.

She wants to forget, to lose herself in this small action, this small moment where nothing and no one will interrupt her, not here.

How many cigarettes have I smoked out here? How many minutes have I spent hiding from them? Lola looks up to the sky; it's a brilliant blue, filled with fluffy white clouds roving over it's endless expanse. There must be some purpose beyond dying...isn't there?

"Lola, the front is getting really busy again."

"Finishing up now Marta."

Lola flicks the cigarette in the opposite direction of the alley's entrance. She pops a mint in her moth and forces herself to reset the vapid smile right back over her face, the handle of the door is within millimeters of her fingertips, and yet Lola cannot bring herself to open the door, her body is frozen in place.

"If its purpose you want little one, it is not in the outside world that you will find it, your purpose will only ever come from within yourself."

Lola doesn't know where the voice came from, only that it was right. When she finally closes up the store that night, she makes her goodbyes with the other employees, the disembodied voice still rings in her head, an almost goading tone that Lola knows was not present when she first heard it now rings freely through her head. I must be going nuts.

The train ride home is relatively quiet. Lola chooses a seat in the last wagon of the train, the one usually taken up by a homeless guy whose stink keeps most other patrons from using the wagon, but not Lola; she knows the man, or at least known him enough to understand that he's not homeless, just mentally unstable. Much like her mother.

"Hey Lola, how was work?"

"It was fine Don, thanks. How was your day?"

Don's eyes focus on the spot just above Lola's head. The become filled with a clarity and intensity that Lola has ever seen during her mother's fugue states. Whatever he's about to tell her, it will be very interesting, or very far-fetched, wither one is better than the sound of whirring machines and obnoxious coffee orders.

"They're out there. Poking around in people's heads...I can hear them sometimes...when I'm alone" Don's voice fades as he looks across the wagon to the small window that shows them the tracks they're leaving behind, he seems to be searching for something in the darkness, forcing his eyes to see something that Don knows should be there, but that no one else knows is missing.

"Can you be so sure? Maybe he's found HIS purpose" the voice whispers in Lola's ear. It feels different now than it did earlier, much more clearer, much more menacing. Lola presses her eyes shut and pushes at the disembodied voice, making it go away by sheer force of will, just like her mother tried to for so long.

"You know Lola, you're the only person ever sits back here with me"

"Don't pay the rest of them any mind Don. They live for products, not people."

Don nods knowingly and rests his head on the train's wall. Lola tries to focus on the graffiti flying past the windows of the wagon; Lola wonders how and why these parts of the subway are graffitied, but then she remembers that everyone is just trying to make themselves heard, to make themselves noticed, graffiti is the one art form still available to anyone.

The sound of the music in her earphones becomes hypnotic, a sound she is not listening to, but is completely aware of and intrigued by. Her eyes still try furtively to read the messages left on the tracks by countless individuals.

PURPOSE CANNOT BE FOUND FROM THE OUTSIDE, IT CAN ONLY BE GIVEN FROM THE INSIDE

Lola sits up straight, the message is painted on the wall opposite her, it can be read from the platform behind her.

"Good night Don."
"Getting off early Lola? You got ten more stops to your usual stop."

"Just...visiting some friends tonight Don, that's all" Lola gets up and hurries to the door, squeezing through just as the robotic voice calls for passengers to watch the closing doors. Don waves at her as the train picks up speed and Lola stares, entranced, at the message written on the wall.