Minimum Wage (A Prose)

Peeling off the vinyl skin, a sigh of relief escapes my lips. How the hell did I survive so long? I'm already tearing off the stained shirt as I slide the door closed behind me. Hands are still clammy from the ice. "That's gonna hurt tonight," I was told. "Yeah, can't hardly wait," was the only answer I could muster at that moment.

Putting on a clean t-shirt, brand-less, gives me the short-lived anticipation of a well-earned rest for a nobody. The back-room door does not block out the seemingly endless sounds outside, only muffling it, just enough to provide a temporary sanctuary for the weary.

Reality surges back into my mind as I envision my escape route. The machine buzzes into life as I feed it my card emblazoned with a scribbled name. I can hardly remember when I signed it. I slide open the door again, body crashing into the foreign elements in the air that have grown sickeningly familiar. Waving a mock salute, I smile and perfect my scripted lines to a tee, "See you on Thursday."

Run fast. Run free. Run now.

(Originally posted in my old blog http://ostentatious-cretin.blogspot.sg/)