By the time I reached the main stretch of the city, the sky had already begun to pale—not bright, just less dark, like something reluctantly giving way. It had to be around six-thirty. Maybe seven. My phone was already out of charge. However, time didn't matter much in such mornings.
I walked covered, hands tucked in, face lowered just enough to be ignored. People were already awake—more alive than they wished to be at this hour. Doors opened. Water splashing onto stone. Mothers rushing, tying her hair, adjusting uniforms while waiting for the bus with her kid, meanwhile the child still had his mouth stuffed with breakfast. Men stepping out with those tired shoulders, already carrying the weight of the day before it even started. Apparently life for commoners has never been easy—especially the middle-class ones.
My steps slowed without initiation, my eyes lingering on each action—
There was something about it—this noise, this motion, this ordinary suffering—that felt...close. Like standing near something warm without ever touching it. a home that existed, just not for me.
"....Pathetic," I murmured, though I didn't try to look away even.
Work.
That was the only thought that stayed. Not what. No where. Just…something that paid. I wasn't obliged for this job, but just wished. It was then that my eyes fell over it—
The restaurant. Familiar enough to linger in memory. I had eaten here before—once, maybe twice. Low, but not cheap. The inside was busy, still not suffocating. Beautifully decorated probably to tempt us. The kind of place where families visited to celebrate things that didn't need celebration.
There were always cheerful sounds ringing through its walls. In winter, even more. Meat—heavy minus, discount cuts—which sure wasn't a reduce but people get fooled easily…..more probably could say that even if they were not fooled the warm plated that filled their stomach and dulled the cold drifted them. Crowd came in waves every evening. Noises, heat, laughter.
"...This will do." I pushed the door open. The bell rang—sharp, thin, cutting through the low hum inside. A few heads shifted instinctively, then returned to whatever they were doing. Did they take me for customer or know that I am another one for the job?
I stepped fully, letting the warmth settle against my skin. The cleaners were already mopping up the floor and the tables. Everything fragrant with jasmine. Fresh flowers being placed in vase carefully—some aesthetic vibe is necessary for sales. The painting on the wall were a thing to spend gaze time on.
One of the cleaner pulled out a seat close to where I was standing. "The dishes are not ready yet. If you choose one maybe we can do—"
"Oh no, I am not here for eating. You see, I am running tight on money. Can I get to do something here. Where is your manager?" I spoke with a convincing smile, really giving a pathetic look, sure my look at that time played along.
"I am not sure if you could get one. He is there—" she had that same office smile one maintained at work, her hands pointed towards the far stretched counter at the other side.
I walked up to it. the man behind didn't look up immediately. his fingers flipped through a stack of papers with mechanical precision, attention—half present, half elsewhere.
Used to be interrupted. Used to dismiss them. "Slots are full," his words came even before I said anything. flat, immediate rejection.
I didn't move. Didn't respond. silence stretched—thin, deliberate. Just enough for him to be forced to notice.
".....Let me work once."
Now he looked up. His eyes ran all over me quickly—not curious. Just assessing. Clothes, posture, expression, the absence of hesitation. People like him didn't care who you were...…. Only whether you were useful.
"I am better than most," I added, voice flat. No pride. No pleading. It was a fact though.
His brows pulled together slightly, not convinced—but not dismissing either. "...Experience?" there was a demand in tone.
"A bit of everything."….. I spoke truth. Just not the way he meant.
He stared for a moment longer, as if trying to place something that didn't quiet fit. Then he leaned back slightly, exhaling deep. It spoke for his uninterest... but not finished either.
I stepped in before the moment closed. "I won't take payment."
That made him pause. A small one, but real.
"Five days," I continued. "Keep me. if I don't meet your standard. Throw me out." my lips curled with a slight smirk—an unnoticeable one.
The deal seemed no harm to him. Only gain. I watched the calculation happened behind his eyes—the quick weighing of labor against cost, efforts against return. Humans were predictable like that.
Silence settled again. He tapped the papers once against the counter, aligning their edges before setting them aside.
"...What exactly can you do?" he asked, slower this time.
"Whatever you need." I held his gaze. Didn't blink or softened. People trusted certainty more than skills. And I had enough of both.
Another pause. Longer. Then—"Morning full," he muttered. "Evening shift's lighter."
There it was. The opening. "Four o'clock," he added. "Come then." His eyes certainly locked at mine.
I nodded once. No smile. No gratitude. Just acceptance. Because that's all it was—a transaction. Nothing more.
I turned to leave, my shoed clicked, just then—
"Exact 4, don't waste my time."
I didn't look back. Could trace his expression. "I won't...…." I meant it. I walked out without showcasing any expression.
...…..
Outside, the cold felt sharper than before. Or maybe I had gotten used to warmth too quickly. Either way—it didn't matter.
Four o'clock he called, isn't it. I felt a hit of dopamine inside, but apparently didn't have anyone to share this kind of happiness. Its nothing special, but somehow felt like a social experiment.
My hands slipped back into my sleeves and I started walking again, expression unreadable, thoughts already shifting ahead.
....
When I returned, the place had changed.
The air was heavier with warmth. Thicker with sound and smell and movement. They handed me a uniform, gloves, an apron—no questions, no instructions. Straight to the back.
The kitchen.
The smell hit first. Raw, metallic, fresh meat spread across steel surfaces—goat, beef, thick cuts stacked carelessly, blood still wet along the edges.
"Cut." ...… that's all they said. I stepped forward, picked up the knife—a pause.
"...…god, am I so much connected to all blood and dissection," I game a slight smile to myself, "maybe I was, nothing could be done though...."
The blade settled into my grip like it belonged here. I adjusted it slightly, then brought it down. The first cut resisted—thick, dense.
"...….Harder than thought." I murmured. With that the second followed. Then the third.
The rhythm built quickly—clean, precise, controlled. Blood spread slowly beneath my hands, warm against the steel. The sound was dull, familiar in a way that made something bounce in my heart...….. not new. Never new. I just did it the day to day before yesterday.
For a moment, the motion overlapped with memory—angles, pressure, separation. Not learned here. Still this is a different experience though. The difference between the flesh of these animals and humans were a bit....but not far. If ever served after cooking together mixed—who know if they could say...… my dirty smirk came on its own self.
...….
Time flew without shape. Orders came. Orders went. The rush built, broke, returned. Noise layered over noise until it stopped anything at all.
By the time it slowed, it was late. Ten. Maybe eleven.
"Eat if you want," a head lady came up with that straight slick face. Sure I won her.
Free food—who I was I to reject.
I went out the kitchen room, took one of the seat near the edge, still in uniform, a plate of vegetables, paneer, something warm enough to pass comfort. I took a bite.
"...Good." It was so kind of them honestly.
For a moment, I just ate. Watched the restaurant empty—one table, then another, until only a few remained. It should have ended here. It was almost time to end. But it didn't—
The metallic crystals made a twinkling sound again as the foors flung open. Too loud for the silence.
Five people walked in. Two women, three men. Well-dressed, careless, slightly unsteady. Drunk.
My gaze lifted briefly—then paused. One of the women—something about her felt familiar. Something I have bee close to for quiet a couple years maybe. The way her gaze moved, her words spread. Everything felt known.
She glanced back. Guess my stare was too obvious. I looked away—but the face imprinted in my mind. Dark black straight hairs falling over the waist. Deep green eyes carved in siren edges. Soft pink lips, face with soft edges—something we call a no makeup make-up look is what she did. Arms--slender, dress revealing enough to make anyone fall to her worship. A precise model featured body she owned.
"…..Whatever." I sniffed looking back to my food.
Their voices filled the room quickly. Order placed. Laughter forced. Then the problem—
"No more meat prepared….." the waiter said carefully. "Kitchens closing….."
"What do you mean?" her voice cut through everything. "Then cut it right now—"
"It's late ma'am—"
"I said do it." her voice came sharp with edgy coldness. "Or do you want a review that shuts this place down?"
Silence. The men laughed lightly. Watching with a mockery smile.
I exhaled slowly. They were drunk, predictable actions.
Then she pointed at me. At me— "How are workers sitting right now? Call her."
My grip tightened slightly around the fork. For a moment—just a moment—I imagined it. The angle, the force, how easily things could split. How she would be begging down her knees if I pierce this fork right through, scratching out the nails would be such good though.
I blinked again. Could sense them looking down at me with all those mocking smile spread. It's not such a good idea to act decent in reality. Being bad is such easy path—don't like it, remove it. Yeah, somehow my mind had already been made up finish all four of them tonight.
But it wasn't the right time. I should have control over myself. I stood up. Walked past the waiter without a word.
The knife felt different this time. Heavier. Sharper. I cut faster. Cleaner. Each motion precise, irritation bleeding into the rhythm. Meat separated easily under pressure. Prepared. Sent out.
I carried one of the plate myself. Placed it front of her. Definitely noy letting my anger take over, but not letting my ego loose as well—I didn't bend in welcome as I have seen the severs doing. Simply served and came back to my seat. Picking my spoon again to finish my open left food.
A bite—
Crash.
The sound cut through everything. The plate lay shattered on the floor. "What kind of food is this? She snapped. I looked back at her, without letting a slight change in expression as if I expected from her, but I was shocked internally. Her eyes cut at mine, "This is disgusting. Some dirty food dogs can eat. But not people like us." She continued. " Do you even know who I am—"
Something inside me tightened. Then—snapped. This is not what I came for—
"….I see," an evil smirk took over my lips. I stood up slowly. Walked over to those shattered pieces and picked the broken plate with both my hands, warm- hot food dripping from it. Turned towards her, "Is this how you behave?" my voice was calm. Too calm.
She leaned back slightly, lips curling. "Oh? Are you going to teach me manners?"
A pause. Then—
"Yes."
I movement was simple. I slammed that plate against her face. Suffocating her enough to inhale sauce with meat sliced.
Her expressions froze—sock, disbelief. Her hands punched me on face a couple times in resistance. The boys shocked by my action finally stood up.
Now that's how I like. Guess would have a bit fight here. At last the end of my nothing special day...…..
...…Not my fault...…yeah, not due to me this time.