Everyday Edward sits alone in the dark corner of the bar, isolated from the world, with a frosty mug, half full, that sits in his right hand as he stares off into space. The world goes on without him, and he is just there to observe. To always be on the outside looking in. That is what he always told himself everyday. His life was going to just be the same . Wake up, go to work, sleep, and repeat. He was a waste of a life, no point, no reason, just to exist. At least that is what he would think until today.
Today started exactly the same as everyday. But for some reason, it felt different to him. He woke up promptly at 6 o’clock, leaving him with enough time to prepare his favorite breakfast dish. Well not really his favorite, but he doesn’t seem to enjoy anything. It could be thought of as the dish that he dislikes the least.
He sits down at his dining table staring at the empty seat before him. The table on that side is clean and spotless, and there is no evidence that it has ever been used. Edward pops open the top of his nearly empty syrup bottle.
“It seems I’ll have to pick up new one today,” he complained to himself. Tipping the bottle over guiding it to evenly distribute its contents across his french toast. He tapped the back twice to make sure his toast got ever last drop that was in the bottle and then consumed it within minuets. Then its off to work in his old busted up brown Corolla, bumpers hanging by tiny slivers of rusted metal. Driving on the same road to work everyday followed by a tiny cloud of smoke and the thunderous roar of the engine. His own little thunderstorm to keep him company on his long drive to work. His drive became so routine that the 30 miles only felt like a few minuets. He never thought about the drive anymore, he even once made it to work drifting in and out of sleep.
He blinks a few times and he’s already sitting in his chair, at his desk, in his tiny cubical. Hands on his keyboard, typing something that wouldn’t even be read anyway. On a normal days of work for him would include a few hours of mindless typing, followed by a few weird activities he did to kill time. One of which would be to pull up every memo that goes around everyday, even if it had nothing to do with him, and he would play a little game. He would read each one a few times, then proceed to count every word. From that word count he would guess how many letters were in the memos. It wasn’t one of the most exciting of games, but he was getting good at it, and was able to guess fairly close to the actual number 3 times out of 5.
After his 8 hours of torture, Edward goes off to the bar he frequents, “Bottoms Up.” He planned to do the normal night out. Sit around for 3 hours and choked down his a glass and watch the people go about their own life. He use to attempt conversations , when he still felt as though his life had a point to it, but not anymore. He couldn’t remember the last time someone came up to talk to him.
His isolated corner felt different from usual. Maybe it was the lighting or something in the air, he couldn’t tell. But today, something was definitely out of the ordinary. He took a quick sip from his mug and time seemed to slow down. He surveyed the area filled with dozens of faceless bodies. Back and forth his eyes darted, until they came across a face. While he didn’t know her, when he looked at her he felt like he did, or at least he should. He stared until his eyes were screaming for moisture and was forced to blink. But when he opened his eyes, time had returned to normal, and the woman was gone.
“It must have just been my imagination,” he sighed and took another sip.
He turned back forward and there she was, with a frosty mug in her left hand she sat across him. She sat there silently for a moment, perhaps waiting for Edward to make the next move. But, with no sign of that happened, she parted her lips and sweetly spoke.“Hey, what’s your name?”
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