[RF] Grease
The smell of grease hangs thick in the air, clinging to the clothes and lungs of those inside. Julia has gotten used to this smell. Day in and day out, she has to endure the wretchedness of this diner. The foul-mouthed customers gorging on the greasy mess they call food. She writhes in agony each morning, Dread building in the pits of her stomach. Julia trudges through the day, forcing a smile because smiles mean better tips.
Every shift feels like the same terrible day, playing on repeat. Like a loop she can’t escape. Sometimes she wonders if she's died and forced to live out eternity in this hellhole.
“Excuse me, miss,” an older gentleman with speckled gray hair calls out to her. She can already tell this interaction is not going to be a good one. His tone is one of condescension, and the expression on his face displays annoyance.
“Tell me this, how hard is it to make a simple sandwich? I specifically asked for no mayo. What does this look like to you, hmm?” She just stands there looking at the sandwich while the man berates her. He obviously isn't looking for an answer, and Julia has found that just letting the customer belt out their annoyances is the best way to curb the abuse.
“Now go do your job like you were supposed to do in the first place and tell that incompetent cook to make the sandwich the right way, got it? Or do you need me to repeat myself slower so you can understand?” The man waits expectantly for an answer. For a moment, Julia imagines picking up his plate and smashing it against his face, but instead, through gritted teeth, she responds,
“No, sir, I understand,.” biting her tongue to try and keep the profanities from spilling out. She takes the sandwich back to the cook to have it remade.
When it's finally out, she stares down the sandwich. The foul words of the man replay in her mind. Before she can stop herself, she spits on the man's sandwich, and a warmth spreads throughout her chest. For the first moment in weeks, she smiles.
Julia makes her way to the older man's table, and with the most apologetic tone, she tells him,
“I’m so sorry about the misunderstanding, sir. I hope this one is more up to your standards.” The man mumbles under his breath some more about lazy and incompetent kids, but nothing worth responding to. She allows herself the enjoyment of watching the man bite into his sandwich, knowing just what is on it as she continues her shift.
The rest of her shift passes in a blur of greasy food and grumpy customers. When, at last, the end comes, she goes to the back to grab her stuff from her locker and head home. Since her mother sold the car to fuel her bad habits, Julia is forced to make the trek on foot. The trees along the road loom eerily over her as she walks. Every snap, every creak makes her jump.
The wind cuts right through her clothes, chilling her to the bone. Her only solace is the faint glow from the streetlights and the thought that safety is only a couple more blocks down the road. A pit starts to form in her stomach as she gets the feeling of something lurking just beyond the treeline.
She tries to brush it off and keep her composure, but the feeling intensifies. Goosebumps break out on her skin like a rash, and she breaks into a sprint, running as fast as her legs can take her. She stumbled into her front yard as she miscalculated how close the curb is. Her footing still unsure, she tumbles to the door and finds it unlocked and slightly ajar, making the unease she felt on her way home even more pressing.
Picking up a rock from the yard, she hesitantly makes her way inside. With the rock raised, prepared for battle, she jumps out ready to surprise the intruder, but instead she sees her mother, asleep in a drunken slumber.
She feels a swirl of relief and resentment in her stomach as she stares down at the woman who raised her. Years ago, her mother got fired for being drunk on the job, making Julia the main source of income. The money she had put away for groceries had so often been stolen for her mother's undertaking at the various bars in town. Leaving Julia forced to go to bed hungry more often than not.
Fearing the wrath of the alcohol-induced monster called Ruth, she does her best to keep from waking her, but alas, her attempts were in vain. Her mother awakens, roaring profanities, hot alcohol on her breath as it washes over Julia's face.
“You sure were out late. What were you doing? Or should I say who? You’re just like your father. Nothing but a whore.” The words cut like a knife, and her mind drifts back to the night her father left. The night everything changed.
That night, they had gotten into another big fight. Ruth, spitting defamatory comments, and her father desperately trying to get through to her. Trying to find one last ounce of the person she was before the alcohol. However, this fight was different. Ruth was being especially vile in her remarks, and her father, usually very calm, started to lose his grip on sanity. He rips the bottle from her hands and throws it against the wall. He clutches her face in both hands, crying about how she’s changed, begging for the old Ruth to come back, the woman he married.
Ruth tears at his hands, desperate to get away from his grip, but the struggle only makes him cling to her harder. His hands slide down to her slender neck. Ruth claws at his hands as she struggles for air.
Julia watches from behind the kitchen counter, too terrified to move. She will never forget the bloodlust she saw in her father's usually kind eyes. It was almost as if something had taken over, and it was no longer the man she knew, but something else entirely. The reality of the situation dawns on him just as Ruth's face turns a nasty shade of blue and his grip loosens. Horror contorts his features, and he stares down at his hands. Bile rises from his stomach. His face a sickly green, he drops to his knees as the contents of his stomach empty into Julia's bin of dolls.
Ruth collapses to the ground, coughing, gasping for air, and clutching at her throat. Minutes pass as she tries to regain her composure, just as the color floods back into her face, it is replaced by red-hot hatred. She rises from the ground, a newfound fury giving her strength. The insults begin to fly, vile accusations and name-calling, worse than Julia had ever heard. Raising her hand, she moves to return the act of violence, but her father pays no mind to the monster, his eyes glossed over, and he stumbles to his room, slamming the door behind him.
He emerges only a few moments later with a hastily packed suitcase. He spots Julia cowering in the corner and tears well up in his eyes. His hand flies to his mouth as a sob escapes from his lips. He rushes over and swallows her up in an embrace. Through his sobs, he whispers the words,
“I'm so sorry, Julia.”
Her mind snaps back to reality, and she sees her mother's face flushed red from the alcohol. The thought of her father being driven away by words just like those pushes her over the edge. She loses it.
A guttural cry escapes her lips as she lunges toward the monster. Julia tackles her and pins her down, her mother's limbs flailing and kicking in a desperate attempt to get away, almost as if she knows what’s about to happen. Julia raises the rock, her arm trembles, but looking down at her mother's flushed red face, still spitting insults, something inside of her snaps, and she brings it down upon her mother's skull.
A sharp crack rings throughout the house as the rock connects with bone. The flailing limbs thud against the floor, and the life fades from her eyes. A pool of blood begins to bloom behind her head, but Julia's rage persists.
The rock comes down again. “Crack, crack, crack.” An animalistic roar rises from the pit of Julia's stomach until all that's left of the monster is a mangled, bloody mess. The corpse almost unrecognizable as human.
She sits back and takes in the scene before her. Memories of her mother before her addiction come flooding back, and Julia breaks down. Sobs rack her frame, and the bloody rock slips from her hands. A metallic smell permeates the air and invades her nostrils. Reality strikes like a blow to the head. She has to get out of this place; she cannot get caught.
A feeling of justice quickly overtakes the brief moment of grief. Ruth got what she deserved. For years, Julia had suffered her abuse, taking it silently, all the while supporting her, caring for her, working herself to the bone for a mother who gave nothing in return. She was a drain on society and had many enemies from her drunken tirades at the bar. It could have been anyone.
Julia made her way to the shower to wash off the gore. She scrubbed her skin raw, trying to scrape the image of her mothers bashed in head from her mind. Julia lets the water wash over her until it turns cold. Wrapping herself up in the towel, she faces herself in the mirror. Her eyes drift across her face, her body, and finally lock onto her hands. The blood still caked in the crevices of her fingernails. She never thought she could be capable of such brutality. Let alone against her own mother.
The gravity of her situation sets in, and she rushes to her closet. Digging through her piles of clothes, she finds the suitcase her father had gotten her years before when she used to visit her grandparents. Julia quickly stuffs a pile of clothes in the suitcase and sets off to grab the cash she had hidden from her mother in the air vents. Ripping the grate from the wall, she stuffed the wadded-up bills in her pocket. Anxiety was slowly creeping in, replacing her rational thoughts. Julia feels herself losing her grip on sanity. She has to get out. She can’t spend one more second in this house with that rotting corpse.
She sets off on foot. With no destination in mind, her only goal was to put as much distance between her and her childhood home. The only place she had ever known. She makes it about a mile before a thought creeps in. This time, one that's actually helpful.
“The train station is only a couple of miles south of here.” The unease that she had felt just hours ago on her way home from the diner only intensified. The trees seemed almost taller, the wind harsher, and the shadows more sinister. Perhaps it was a trick of the mind. Her own mental state being reflected back at her, or perhaps someone had seen her. Could there have been someone following her home, just like she had feared? Did they see the whole thing?
These thoughts plagued her mind the whole way to the train station. It was a miracle she made it that far without suffering a mental break. To Julia’s relief, the train station was the emptiest she had seen. The last thing she needed was a crowd of people watching her. She bought the first ticket that would take her out of town.
Just as she's about to board she sees it. To anyone else, it's just a regular suitcase. But to Julia, it's much more. The sight of it knocks the breath from her chest, and she struggles to maintain her composure. Her head whips around the station. Seeing nothing but a few stragglers rolling in from long commutes, too exhausted to pay attention to anything except getting home, she approaches.
It's just like she remembers it. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, it looks older, more broken in, but she would recognize that suitcase anywhere. The sight drags her back to that awful night. Looking around to make sure no one is looking, she takes it and boards the train.
Julia’s heart pounds in her chest. The beating so hard she can hear it. The suitcase stares up at her. Its contents sing their siren song, begging to be opened. Her fingers hover over the latch. Hesitantly, Julia clicks it open. It groans open as if the inside hasn't seen daylight in years. A distinct scent of wood and linseed oil drifts from the tattered case, filling the air around her.
Inside, there lay one thing. Julia didn’t know what to expect, but certainly not this. A fully loaded Colt Single Action Army lay solitary in the case. She picks it up and weighs it in her hands. Shocked by how heavy such a small object can be. Julia observes it. It’s a beautiful thing, the handle made of black walnut, with intricate engravings of flowers on the barrel.
The whole situation baffles her. A tattered piece of luggage, almost identical to her father's old suitcase, left abandoned at a train station, with nothing inside except a fully loaded gun from the 1860s.
The lights on the train begin to flicker. On and off. Submerging her in complete darkness only to assail her eyes with an explosion of light seconds later. Over and over, the lights flash, disorienting her. She cowers in her seat, hugging her legs to her chest with her eyes tightly shut. Her hands shoot up to cover her eyes and block the light, but she's met with a thick, wet substance. Suddenly, the flashing stops, and she looks down at her hands. A deep crimson blood covers them.
“No, no, no, no, no.” Julia begins to spiral.
“This isn’t happening, this isn’t real, I didn’t do anything wrong, she deserved it, she deserved it.”
Something appears in the corner of her eye. An earthy, rotting smell fills the air, and dread builds in her stomach. The intense, “chug, chug chug,” of the train slowly changes. The rhythm becomes something else. “Crack. Crack. Crack.” The sound of rock striking bone. The color drains from her face, and her head whips around. To her horror, she sees her mother's mangled corpse. The neck twisted at an awful angle to face her.
What's left of her face, twisted up in a toothless grin. An awful creaking sounds from the mound of bloody flesh as it rises from its seat. Julia shifts as it draws closer; the putrid smell of rot engulfs her. The hands of the corpse wrap around Julia's neck like a snake. Clutching to it like a lifeline. Her glossy eyes stare straight through her. The lifeless form, somehow filled with vengeance, crushes Julia’s neck until the oxygen leaves her body. Little white lights dance through her field of vision until her world goes black.
Light pours in through the window onto Julia's face, and the raucous chugging of the train awakens her. She shoots up, terror coursing through her veins as she remembers what had just occurred. Her head whips around, searching fervently for the monster, but there's nothing. Her eyes fall to her hands. No blood. Her hand tenderly reaches for her neck. There's no pain. It's almost as if it didn't happen at all, but it was so vivid. Julia could have sworn her mother was there, the pain, the blood. It was all so real.
She feels her sanity slipping. The distinction between reality and her own mind is becoming more blurry with each passing moment. More time had gone by than she thought, and the train made its final stop. She started for the suitcases, awkwardly grabbing them both and walking out.
The glare of the sun made her lose her footing getting off the platform, and she thudded to the ground, her head making a loud “whack” as it connects with the cement. People rush to her. A wake of vultures. Words of concern spat out from every angle. The crowd is closing in, the concern warping into accusations in her mind.
“They all know, they all know what I did. What am I gonna do?” Her thoughts start to spiral
Someone reaches out for her, trying to help, but Julia recoils.
“No! No, no, no. I didn’t do anything. I swear, I didn’t.” She shrieks. Cowering to the ground, she covers her ears, swatting at all who try to help her up.
“They know, how do they know?” Her lips start to tremble. Tears well up in her eyes and start to spill over. Suddenly, a siren sounds in the background. It’s terrible, cries piercing her mind. Her head whips around, and her eyes lock onto a woman, her mother.
“No, not again, please, not again. Stay away! Please go away!” Julia cries. The crowd closes in. Their concerned faces contort into knowing grins. She searches for an escape, a break in the crowd, when she sees it, the suitcase.
She lunges for it. Before anyone can stop her, she pulls out the gun. A collective gasp rings out over the crowd of people, and they all back away. Finally able to breathe, she takes a step back. The siren is getting closer. She feels hopeless.
Flashes of the night before assail her mind. Her mother desperately trying to get away, and the sound of the first crack of the rock. She thinks of her mother's face after the first hit, and she saw a sadness she had never seen before. Julia couldn't imagine her mother's final moments. Knowing that the person who caused your untimely death was your own daughter. Seeing the little girl you raised, bash your head in.
Sobs rack her body. Guilt overwhelming her, she finally admits she's the real monster. No longer being able to justify her actions, she brings the gun up to her temple. She can’t live with herself knowing what she has become.
The crowd pleads with her to put it down, but the sound garbles. She’s made up her mind. Her life is over.
Finger hovering over the trigger, she hesitates. Her eyes fall once more on a mangled face, eyes hanging from their sockets, blood dripping onto the concrete, skull dented like an old pop can. A whisper sounds from what should be her mouth; it’s too soft to hear at first, but it gets louder.
“Do it, do it, do it,” but the voice sounds wrong. Too familiar. It sounds like her.
Suddenly, the pleading for her to put the gun down shifts into a haunting chant.
“Do it, do it, do it,” all echoing in her voice.
The cacophony rings loud in her ears, and she cannot bear it any longer. She squeezes the trigger and,
“BANG!” The gunshot echoes, silence falls over the station, and darkness swallows everything. For a moment, everything is still, silent. Then, a smell creeps in. The same, thick, suffocating smell of grease. Julia's eyes flutter open, her lungs pulling in a shaky breath as her chest fills with that familiar scent. A clatter of plates rings out, breaking the silence.
A voice cuts through the haze.
“Excuse me, miss.” The speckled-haired man gazes up at her, his brow furrowed in irritation.
“Tell me this, how hard is it to make a simple sandwich?” Julia's stomach drops. Somewhere deep in her chest, a terrible realization begins to form.