Page 3 of Senescence (Inferno World)

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

My hands moved of their own volition, muscle memory taking over with each item I swiped. Looking up, I saw the customer in front of me give me a smile. I gave her a grin back but internally I rolled my eyes. She was a regular, as were most people in this podunk town. FreshN’Fast was the only supermarket here unless you wanted to drive thirty miles out of the way to go to a big box store. Most people didn’t, so they ended up here, in front of me.

Day in and day out I scanned bread, milk, and cheese for the same inbred hicks over and over again. My dad started me in the back stocking when I was twelve, and as soon as I was allowed to work the front of the house at fourteen, I became the regular cashier.

Of course we had other employees. Tanya was a forty five year old single spinster with thirty-five cats and the best resting bitch face I’d ever seen. She cashiered with me when it was busy, and when I wasn’t working. There was Todd, a pimple-faced snot rag who was probably about my age at seventeen who did the majority of the stocking, and Arthur, a sixty something sweet old man who worked in the small deli we had. My dad, Bob did the managerial stuff and said if I worked hard the FrestN’Fast would be mine when he died. Little did he know I didn’t fucking want it, and I was pretty sure he didn’t really want to give it to me.

As soon as I turned eighteen in a few weeks, I was out of here. I’d saved every single paycheck I’d ever gotten ready to ditch this fork in the road for somewhere more glamorous. Maybe I’d end up in New York City or Los Angeles? I honestly didn’t give a fuck where I went, as long as it was away from here.

I was also fairly certain the only reason the store would be left to me was because I was Bob’s only kid. For as long as I could remember I asked my parents for a little brother or sister, but I always got the same response.

Mom would say“Now honey. Why would I want a second child when my first one ended up so perfect?”While dad would snort, roll his eyes and storm off to his man-shed to drink himself into oblivion. As a young kid I didn’t quite understand his hostility, but as I grew up it was painfully obvious.

My father, Bob Atler, hated me.

It took me a lot of years, heartache, and eventual acceptance trying to change his perspective of me. I didn’t know what I had done to warrant such hate, but I wanted to be a Daddy’s Girl more than anything in the world. Tons of shows I watched on TV showed me how a real family was meant to look, and it was nothing like ours. Mom had died when I was eleven and his hostility of me grew more and more. I was pretty used to it, but sometimes it still stung. Something had never felt right about our relationship and he made it clear that I was the one to blame.

The hardest days were Sundays for me. I went to church to absolve my sins per Bob’s orders, and then would spend the day on my knees in prayer. My dad believed in strict obedience of the Ten Commandments and our store was closed on Sundays to observe the Sabbath.

Every day he would come to my room after church and say the same thing.

“Pray like your life depends on it Lucy Marie. You’re already bound for hell just for being born, but maybe the devil will show you mercy.”

Of course, I didn’t know why I was going to end up in the fiery pits of the abyss, but I didn’t question him. Honor thy father and all that mumbo jumbo.

“Your total is eighty-five dollars and sixteen cents,” I mustered the cheerful tone that was expected of me. The woman smiled and pulled out cash, glancing at her young child in the cart and another holding on to the outside bar.

“They’ve been so good today, I think I’ll take them for ice cream,” she said jovially, handing over the cash, trying to make small talk. Half of me wanted to roll my eyes at the woman and warn her that her perfect home was just a facade. No one was that happy. The other part of me desperately wanted to see how the other half lived. What was it like to be raised by two people who loved you deeply? How did it feel waking up knowing that you were wanted, protected, and needed in someone's life? I had felt those things with my mother, but not so much with Bob.

“That sounds like a great idea,” I responded, with a little less cheer in my words.

The woman gave me a knowing and sad smile, taking her change and walking away without so much as a backwards glance. I didn’t blame her of course. It wasn’t her fault I had an alcoholic, bible thumping, Lucy hating, prick for a father. It would all be okay though. I turned eighteen in a few weeks, and as soon as summer started two months after that, I was going to buy myself a car and drive until I ran out of funds or hit a coast.

The next customer walked up, his basket on my conveyor belt. He looked down to make sure his young daughter was close beside him and he smiled at her with an exorbarance of love reflecting from his blue eyes. I hated him. I hated them both.

Each customer who came through my lane was another hit to my already fragile self esteem. As much as I couldn’t wait to be an adult and leave this place, a larger part of me than I was willing to admit was a little sad about leaving my dad with so much anger towards me still in his heart. I wanted his love, and I wanted him to want me, but after so many years it felt like a fool's errand to stick around and hope for the best. I had resolved myself to my plans and for better or worse, I was going to carry them out.

“Lucy, please report to the manager’s office,” my dad’s dulcet tones sounded over our PA system. I flipped off my light and smiled at Tanya who turned her light on. She didn’t look very happy to be taking over behind the register. It wasn’t my fault, but I was an easy target for people’s ire.

Walking to the back of the store, I saw Todd stacking boxes of jello and I rolled my eyes. He’d been trying to get into my pants for the better part of a year. I’d considered it, desperately wanting to lose my virginity, but having to see him almost every day afterwards would be like eating a chicken and having to keep the carcass on your nightstand for months on end. I shivered and kept walking. That was not an image I wanted stored in my brain.

“What’s up Mr. Atler?” I asked after knocking and waiting for him to bid me entry. I wasn’t allowed to call him dad at the store. It wasn’t professional.

“What the fuck is this?” Dad screamed as soon as the door shut behind me.

I paled watching my father unscrew the lid on the oversized mayonnaise jar I’d been stashing all of my paycheck money in for the better part of six years.

“That’s mine!” I shouted rushing towards him, only to stop in my tracks as he dumped out the contents onto his desk in front of him.

“Yours?” He laughed, the smell of alcohol oozing from his pores. “Nothing is yours you ungrateful child. I am your father. Whatever is yours, is rightfully mine or Gods.”

My mouth hung open in shock. Was he really trying to take every penny I had ever made? It seemed as if he was.

“Jesus Christ, are you serious? I’ve worked for you for six years and every penny in that jar is rightfully mine!” I could feel the aggravated tears welling up in my eyes.

“Don’t you dare use the Lord’s name in vain you retched immoral child,” he seethed. “This money is retribution for eighteen years of feeding you, keeping a roof over your head, and clothes on your miserable back.”

I watched in horror as he stacked my money on his desk like Scrooge McDuck, hunger in his soulless eyes.

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