Number 12

In a diner, not far from Chicago, I sit. I’ve just finished the most amazing pancakes I have ever eaten, period. They were so light and fluffy, and the syrup was as sweet as the sun. My stomach full and my spirits high, it’s time to go to work.

I stand up from my seat and walk towards the register, where I am met by my waitress, Cindy. She smiles, and opens her mouth to ask how my breakfast was. Her expression turns from polite to horrified in one swipe. She grasps her neck and falls to the floor, unable to make a sound. Her eyes are so beautiful, swelling with tears, confused and empty. I know what she wants to know. Her lovely face, now increasingly pale, begs to know why. I cannot answer her, it’s too late, and there isn’t enough time to explain. Maybe when I meet her again, when I face all of my sins.

As I leave the diner, a wind whips through the night, chilling me to the core. It’s too cold here, time to head south.

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