Not today, maybe tomorrow?

The woman shivered in the oversized trench coat, hiding her ruddy-tinged hands in the deep pockets. Standing to her left was a man, not one she had known for a very long time. Actually, she couldn't recall if they had ever met. 

"Do you want to hit this?" The man brought a cigarette to her cracked lips, watching the smoke plume around her sunken, ghost-like face. "It will make all those problems go away."

Go away. She yearned to say those words, but they stopped at the edge of her tongue. "Yes," she agreed, accepting the smoke. 

Placing the filter between her lips, she inhaled like it was natural, as if it was... expected. 

On the opposite side the parking lot, a woman walked with a child in tow—a little girl with big, green eyes and a pair of purple rain boots. The moment the woman's eyes met the couple, she drew her child closer, like a bear with its cub. 

"They fear the unsullied," the man whispered, leaning closer to her, "and because of that worry, they will grow to hate you. Why do you think they take pets? They want to be catered but to also do the catering."

A brush of fingers swept across the shell of her ear, and her legs shook under the weight. Before she could duck away, going off into the store like the other humans, he clicked his tongue. 

"Until they put you to sleep. Soon enough, you'll become nothing more than another bedside picture or a jar of ash resting on a lofty ledge. The thought process of humans is unsettling; it can make them happy enough to worship or angry enough to kill."

To kill. The woman smiled happily and handed the cigarette back over, not realizing that she had stained the bleak white. Strings of black hair split like rivulets down her shoulders, covered by the droppings of ash. But when she tried to blow the remnants away, they remained. 

"Can we go inside?" She asked. 

"Not today, maybe tomorrow?" 

She noticed a different tone when he said tomorrow, which sounded restrained, tempting. Not his usual manner, she thought. Did he have a regular way? 

"Do I know you?" She asked.

"Not today, maybe tomorrow?"

-------

Inside the grocery store, the woman and her child went through the checkout aisle. The woman was holding a jug of milk, and the child was carrying a pack of chewing gum. Harold, the store attendant, watched as the woman refused to get the gum before giving in to the child's tantrum. 

Parents had no backbone these days, and he recalled a different time. A time where a yes meant no, and a no meant no. Good times, he thought. Beautiful times. He watched the world become filled with a bunch of useless pansies, wanting handouts and chewing gum. He, by no means, was a pansy. He was what his great-granddaddy would call "a real man." 

"You ready to check out?" Harold held the scanner like a revolver; after all, he thought he made a good John Wayne. Hell, he might even be better than John Wayne -- too bad this town didn't take him seriously.

"Yes," the woman said, snatching the gum from her child, "this is it."

Harold scanned the items flawlessly. And as the fluorescent store lights beamed down on his bald head, he felt a genuine purpose. He would be under the movie lights one day, not far from today. "John Wayne, my ass," he exulted. 

"I beg your pardon?" The woman juggled the boat of a wallet before handing over two perfectly crisp dollar bills. "This should cover it."

Harold accepted the money like a vigilante taking the kindness of the people. His enormous belly jiggled as he shoved the cash into the drawer before he ripped the receipt off. "You have a wonderful day, mam," he said with a hero's smile, failing to realize his beer belly was bouncing enough to reveal some skin. 

Harold noticed the woman shooting a nasty stare at his exposed stomach. Eagerly, he pulled down his maroon store t-shirt. "Sorry bout that, been trying to shed a few pounds."

Harold watched as the mother-daughter duo exited the store. 

He would be out of this discount price prison in two more days. He tapped his stubby fingers on the register and hummed a glorious tune of freedom. It was only then he noticed, in the corner of his eye, that weird couple that had been outside all morning.

Weird folk, he deduced. Not from around these parts. "Probably don't even fear the lord, those types," he mumbled.

But why were they approaching that mother and child? And what was in that guy's hand? This can't be good, Harold thought. This could be my moment.

Grabbing the nearest weapon he could find, Harold marched out of the store with a broom that could be considered a sword. A sword of wood and straw, Harold valiantly snickered. In life, there were only specific opportunities to show the world who you genuinely are – and Harold had found his chance. 

The rain-slick pavement did little to help the traction on his holey sneakers, and Harold did everything possible not to fall before his moment. 

"Get away from them," Harold declared in his most exemplary manager's voice, "go back to the gutter where your type belongs."

The couple came to a slow stop, their matching boots scraping against the concrete, and they turned to look at him. Harold felt like he could piss himself with the look they were giving. A look that seemed too feral to be human.

"Humans are the most feral of all creatures," the guy standing next to the woman said, "look at his shiny head and thick neck. That's feral."

Harold waved the broom in front of him like a shield bestowed to the best warrior. And for a moment, he longed to be back inside the discount prison, and it was safe there with the cash register and the emergency response button situated just beneath the counter. 

The mother and child quickly tried to get in their van when the woman zoomed closer to them. So fast that Harold didn't even have the chance to piss himself. 

Snap.

A scream that pierced the air like a balloon popped with a needle with helium hissing. Harold turned to see the mother on the ground with her eyes almost out of her skull. He watched as the little girl desperately tried to shake their mother, but it was too late. It didn't take a doctor, a scientist, or John Wayne to see she was gone.

Harold rushed forward and grabbed the fragile child as if he was capable of protecting anything. And as he patted the girl's hair, reassuring her that help would be on the way, there was a laugh.

Horrified, Harold asked, "are you laughing?"

The little girl pulled away from his shoulder, sealing her glowing green eyes on him. A row of tiny teeth that appeared like little pine needles grew to be much larger than her mouth. Harold released his grip, trying to toss the girl far away, but she wouldn't budge.

"Not today, Harold. Maybe tomorrow?"