Yesterday

I pulled my car up to one of the two gas pumps and killed the engine. I had been on the road for at least five hours straight, taking no stops and no breaks. Exhaustion had begun to pull at my concentration as the sun slowly set. This spur of the moment road trip had not felt like I had imagined it. It was supposed to be an escape from life but ended up just feeling like life and I ended up just feeling even more stressed. I laid my head against the headrest and took a deep breath. Get you some snacks and caffeine to get your head on straight. I thought to myself. Calm down and get back on the road. I rubbed my eyes and unbuckled my seatbelt. I looked over to the convenience store but I had to take a double-take. What an odd gas station. A bright sign glowing green and purple lit up the parking lot. The windows were covered with the same ad over and over again. So many posters that there was no space to see inside. Even the glass on the door was covered in posters. I had seen hundreds if not thousands of gas stations in my lifetime but not one of them was slathered head to toe in a single type of promotion like this one. I decided to ignore it and pulled the car door handle. When I got out I noticed that even the pumps were colored green. I closed the door, stuffed my keys in my pockets, and headed towards the stop.

I looked around me at the broken concrete that littered the ground and the faded paint of the parking aisles. The gas stop itself looked newer but everything around it was old, broken and outdated like the gas pumps and the asphalt of the parking lot. A huge LED sign read ‘Moppy Slop Shop’ in neon green and violet lights. The font of it matched the name. Sloppy. But it was one of the most luminescent signs I’ve ever seen, spilling light over the entirety of the small parking lot. I stepped up on the sidewalk and reached for the door. 

A cold gust of wind hit me from inside. The bright, white lights stung my eyes as I peered through the doorway. The light beamed off of the white tiles and right into my eyes. When I reopened them, everything was clear. Rows and rows of delectable goods filled the shop and tall, clear fridges lined the walls, surrounding it all. The cashier desk was white with a purple marble top that, oddly enough, matched the purple on the sign outside. No one was behind the counter or sitting on the plastic lawn chair beside the entrance. I walked the first aisle, looking for something that sounded good. The only bags that hung from the hooks were of food I had never come across before.  Like a nameless bag of cheese crackers and freeze-dried gummies that were flavored like mint. As I rounded the end of the aisle I took a look at what was in the cold sections. Colorful cans and bottles of juices were stacked top to bottom but something peculiar caught my eye. I stopped and pulled the fridge door open, reaching out for a yellow can with a picture of mango on it. I put it directly in front of my eyes but nothing on the can made any sense. The only thing legible on the can was 8.5 FL. OZ on the bottom and the image of the mango. The big, bubble letters of the brand made no sense and the same for the nutrition facts on the back. 

“What the fuck?” I whispered to myself. I shook my head and tried again. Nothing but pure gibberish. You must be really damn tired to not be able to read a soda can. I replaced it and grabbed another. The same thing occurred for every can I picked up and sat back down. I shook my head and decided that it was some type of road sickness, stepping back, letting the door swing closed. The slam from it made me jump. My headshot over to the cashier counter scared that they may have seen or heard what had happened. Then I remembered. There was no cashier. Where were they? I remembered an ashtray next to a folded up metal chair outside but none of the cigarette butts had been simmering and the chair was leaned up against the wall. They were probably outback or in the storeroom. I rubbed my sore head wishing that I could just rub the sleep away and drive on forever. I shook my head and continued walking.

I had had no luck looking for some food that was either recognizable or sufficient. How had I managed to come to a gas station that had nothing but unusual snacks and no staff? And why did I leave with no thought or idea of a destination? And why exactly did I leave? I was deep in my thoughts when I heard a noise somewhere behind me. I spun around and caught a glimpse of a shadow dive behind the counter. Why so jumpy all of a sudden? I asked myself. Something must have slipped off the counter or, God-forbidding, the cashier was finally back. I stared at the wall behind the counter for a while before returning to my search for a delectable good. I decided on some older looking trail mix and a cream soda. Or what I had been hoping was a cream soda. 

I began my walk back to the front when I noticed something odd on the floor. I stopped and crouched next to it, setting my snacks on the ground. It looked like a pile of dirty clothes but something shiny stood out from it. I braced myself, putting my hand on the floor,  and reached out for it. Just as my fingertips grasped the end of it, a voice broke the silence. 

“Need somethin’, mister?” An old, scratchy voice asked. I jumped and snapped my hand back, looking towards the cashier station. An old man with a cigar in between his lips was bent over the counter looking at me, clearly bewildered. I grabbed my snacks and stood up, dusting off my jeans, never breaking eye contact with the cashier. Where had he come from? I nodded and took a step forward, completely forgetting what was in front of me. My foot had managed to throw every cloth astray, including the mystery object. I nearly fell, trying to catch myself and avoid stepping on them.

“Shit!” I whispered to myself. “Umm… Sorry! I-” 

“Speed it up.” He grumbled. “Wasting daylight.” 

I dropped my snacks, yet again, on the floor and bent over. I reached out and pulled back a handful of clothes and put them back into a messy pile that they were originally in. Standing back up, I noticed another one that was thrown farther than the rest. I walked over to it and grabbed it when I noticed that the shiny object was resting slightly underneath it. My hand carefully grasped the cloth but I immediately dropped it once I realized what was under it. I had to hold back my gasp, in fear that he would hear and think that something was wrong. A huntsman knife, covered in dried blood, lay on the white tile. What the hell? You best get out of there, boy. My brain screamed. Something ain’t right with him. I gulped and stood up, my eyes on the knife. I looked back over to the man. He was now sitting down, face blocked by his newspaper. I kicked the pile over to the wall and took a big step over the knife. Get finished, quickly. I calmly told myself. And speed away, like complete bat shit. 

I kept my eyes on the ground as I neared the cashier. Calm yourself down cause if he sees fear in your eyes, he’ll know. And then you’d be in some real shit. I sat my snacks down and pulled out the wallet of my back pocket. He folded his paper in half and sat in on his chair, standing up.

“That's all you need, son?” He asked, scanning my stuff. 

“Uhh…” I freaked out, not expecting him to say anything except something along the lines of “Thanks, have a good evening.”

“Well? Anything?” He insisted. “You can tell me. I don’t bite.” 

For some reason, those last words scared me even more. I don’t bite. Like hell, you don’t. I took a deep breath and answered. 

“No. Nothing, sir.” He clicked some buttons and the machine beeped and whirred as it printed out the receipt. 

“You O.K., son?” He asked softly. “ You seem a little… bothered.” 

I nodded, just wanting to get out of there. 

“Just the fatigue of a long drive setting in, I guess,” I said sheepishly, pushing my wallet back in its pocket. He bagged up my food and sat it on the countertop. He nodded and smiled. 

“Have a good night.” He said sincerely. “And remember, not everyone bites.” 

I looked right into his eyes and caught sight of something that I didn’t exactly like. The corners of his eyes seemed to pinch in with a feeling of oddly placed glee. Like he knew he scared me. I nodded, gave a quick grin and extended my arm out, pulling the bag to me quickly and turning to the door. I pushed the door, waiting for it to fly open easily when I realized it was a pull door. I pulled it and stepped back.

“Remember.” The old man said, his face behind his newspaper. “You can run. But, no matter how far you go, It won’t help you hide.” I froze, completely.

“How did you-?” I pulled the door open but didn’t make it through before blacking out.

~

I woke up in a dark room that I soon realized was the same gas station. I looked around and everything was trashed and thrown out of place. The shelves overturned. Food everywhere, surrounded by bugs. Dust covered everything and the walls were covered in ash. I tried to get up but a terrible pain rang through my body, from my leg. I reached out for my thigh and found what was causing the pain. A wooden handle was sticking out of my thigh and my pants were wet. I lifted my hand into a ray of light and, sure enough, bright red liquid covered my hand and wrist. I looked down at my leg and found what had been keeping me from bleeding out. I noticed that it was the exact handle of the knife in my dream and also what was preventing me from bleeding out already? A tourniquet, I found, made out of a torn-up towel and was tied tight a few inches above the wound. I lied my head back on the wall, exhausted and wondering, what type of hallucination that I had just experienced and who had done this. I looked around and when my eyes landed on the bulletin board behind the counter, everything made sense. 

Several headlines were stapled and tacked onto it and they all read about “The New World’s plan” or news articles mocking America like, “Bomb threats are being thrown around from sea to shining sea.” A movement had begun to remove any and all traces of Jesus, God, and Christianity as a whole but America was the only God-blessed country built on Christian values. And as a result, everyone went haywire, as if the purge bells had rung. And because of our lack of support towards the “New World “, threats from every state, every region began to fly towards us like missiles. Any planes heading out of the country were threatened by groups of terrorists awaiting their arrival and news of massacres sprang up everywhere. Airports closed and millions of stores were overtaken by insiders who had begun attacking our economy in hopes of weakening us. No one left their houses anymore cause if they did they would risk a public burning, beheading or crucifixion. The world had ended just like a new one was welcomed. 

And somehow, in some way, I had ended up here, in a burnt up, abandoned gas station in some small unknown town, stabbed by lord knows what and who, and am now wondering what type of fever dream had I woke up from and which one I had woke up to. All because I had been craving some, God-forbid it, slim jims, funyuns, and Snapple mango. 

My body seemed to grow cold in mere seconds as my head grew lighter. The more I thought of my situation the more it humored me. I chuckled as my delirious self seemed to be deteriorating by the seconds.

“And I think to myself…” I sang to myself lightly. “What a wonderful world…”. Bless whoever tried to save me and bless the old world that everyone was and is trying desperately to hold onto. I thought to myself just as the world faded to grey and then white.