Amanda woke the next morning with a growing sense of dread. Something about this day already carried with it a feeling of foreboding, something truly awful was afoot. Her head lolled against the side of the pillow, pressing her cheek to cool cloth as she breathed in the lingering scent of aloe from her dermatological shampoo. Inhaling a deep breath, she swung her legs out of the bed and onto the icy hardwood flooring. The cold stung her toes, adding to the mounting feeling of unrest, which was only further affirmed as she opened the shade. Staring back at her was her reflection, cast in the melancholy gray that enveloped the entire sky. With shoulders slumped forward in defeat, she plodded her way to the kitchen, attempting to rouse some semblance of feeling from her numb exterior. Swollen thighs brushed together as she shuffled through the laminate tiles. She put on a pot of coffee and trudged to the refrigerator. Its harsh light made her squint as she struggled to find the leftover croissants from last week’s excursion to Key’s Bakery. She pulled out the Tupperware container and threw it onto the kitchen table. It landed with a smack, hitting the wood and sliding across until it collided with the wire napkin holder. Prying off the lid, she began to gnaw unenthusiastically on the buttery pastry. The coffee bubbled to her left, polluting the air with the pungent aroma of awareness. Her fingers began to trace the grain of the table. The croissant melted against her warm tongue, the sweet aroma recalling the food’s origin.
She entered the bakery with a flourish of twinkling bells as the door clattered shut behind her. The glass cases revealed a buffet of baked goods, ranging in size and shape, sparkling with saccharine crystals. Amanda spotted a display of croissants, their half moon shapes staggered across a wooden platform atop the counter. She ignored the sugary delights as she began to eye up the artfully crafted pastries.
“They’re only three for a dollar,” the deep baritone bellowed from behind a crimson curtain. Amanda shrank backward, gripping her palms as though she had been caught stealing.
“Thanks, that sounds great.” Amanda began to pace away from the food, fearful that whoever should emerge from behind the partition might accuse her of handling the merchandise and thus refuse her any. Silly fears such as these frequently plagued her thoughts. “I’ll take, uh, a few,” she stuttered. Her mouth was arid, drying up as she moved further away from the products. Her tongue caressed the roof of her mouth, running over the coarse bumps. She shifted her weight to her left foot and let out a pained exhale, her anxiety over the anticipation of the man behind the curtain had made her physically uncomfortable.
She entered the bakery with a flourish of twinkling bells as the door clattered shut behind her. The glass cases revealed a buffet of baked goods, ranging in size and shape, sparkling with saccharine crystals. Amanda spotted a display of croissants, their half moon shapes staggered across a wooden platform atop the counter. She ignored the sugary delights as she began to eye up the artfully crafted pastries.
“They’re only three for a dollar,” the deep baritone bellowed from behind a crimson curtain. Amanda shrank backward, gripping her palms as though she had been caught stealing.
“Thanks, that sounds great.” Amanda began to pace away from the food, fearful that whoever should emerge from behind the partition might accuse her of handling the merchandise and thus refuse her any. Silly fears such as these frequently plagued her thoughts. “I’ll take, uh, a few,” she stuttered. Her mouth was arid, drying up as she moved further away from the products. Her tongue caressed the roof of her mouth, running over the coarse bumps. She shifted her weight to her left foot and let out a pained exhale, her anxiety over the anticipation of the man behind the curtain had made her physically uncomfortable.
