He weaved his way through the herd of grazing shoppers and the vultures picking at the remains of the reduced stock with his basket filled with the recipe for sadness and loneliness, surrounded and oppressed by the monopolization of hope and joy, consumerism and lights so bright that, with prolonged exposure, they could melt your retinas. “Fuck, I hate Christmas.” Upon collecting his final ingredient he spots a solitary phone on the floor, with no one around he picks it up. Cracked screen and garish floral case. “Better hand this in.” He kept the phone in his hand as he set off to the cashier, he didn’t want anyone to think he was stealing it. At the same moment he picked up the phone, a well dressed middle-aged woman at the exit got the niggling sensation she had forgotten something. She began rummaging through her handbag, becoming more and more flustered she set off, frantically retracing her steps. In her hurry she neglected to see a small child being dragged along by his exhausted father. With force she knocks him over and cracks open his tippy cup, spilling orange juice all over the tiled floor, “I’m terribly sorry!” she said while continuing her search. The disgruntled shopper holding the phone in his hand sees the panicked well dressed woman, instantly realising she was the owner of the cracked garish phone, “Her clothes are as bright and garish as he phone.” He thought as he held up the phone. With relief she sees the phone and sighs, “Thank you!” Her arms now wrapped around the now bewildered shopper. “It’s okay.” He replied. He walks off to avoid any further conversation. Pleased with himself at his good deed his pace quickens and he begins to ponder the legitimacy of Karma and hoped he would get some in return, “I fucking need it” was his last thought as he slipped in the little boy’s spilt orange juice. His legs in the air, falling backwards at great speed and with great force, the base of his skull smashes on the hard tile floor in the centre of the orange puddle. That was the last movement he’d ever make. People gathered around the body of the disgruntled shopper as blood poured from his head, mixing with bright orange substance that brought him to his end.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s