Four Painful Years

You decide to go with your preferred hoodie, jean shorts and leggings combo. This choice will in no way affect the outcome of today’s events. Why would it? They’re just clothes. You could’ve picked anything, really.

After grabbing your keys and attempting to tame your ridiculous head of hair by repeatedly brushing the same cluster of strands in one direction until your arm gets tired, you take stock of how many pills you have left.

Only two left. Bummer. You need at least four to calm your raging headaches. You take them both with some nearby leftover soda and hope it’ll last you the trip. Of course, if you begin to suffer a migraine, you’re screwed either way. Your migraines are legendarily awful.

You lock the door behind you, ride the elevator down to ground level and exit the foyer. No mail today. Damn… You were looking forward to one of those “Game Day” pizza flyers…

...

Your neighbor is staring at you through his window again. You can tell because the gap between his curtains is occupied by something. Normally a light enters through the window ‘round back and you can see his living room. Not this time. Whenever he’s standing there that empty space is just… black. How does he always know when you’re about to leave? Creep… Gives you goosebumps.

Maybe you should just put your hood up and leave like you usually do… Pretend you don’t see him. Though, today you may be just ornery enough to finally flip him the bird you know he so desperately deserves.