A short story written by Rik Villanueva

29 and wasting time at work. . . Work was a retail retirement home of some 85 years. Immediately following the holidays comes the mediocre task of markdowns. You know, dropping prices to clearance. Pink on blue. Pink price stickers over the old blue ones. Drone work. Standing in front of a clothes rack or rounder changing stickers. A monotonous existence for a few hours a day. Stressful, but not high energy stressful. Stressful like a helium balloon slowly drifting far enough to be out of view, then gone. Tack on to that my suspicious demeanor. Pink on blue. A rage building on an otherwise cool personality. You wouldn’t want to approach me on a sales floor. Before you had the chance to finish asking if I worked there, I’d say ‘No’. Neglect like holding up your hand trying to get a teacher’s attention only to be called on and give a wrong answer. Letdown. Pink on blue.

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Written by Rik Villanueva

I’m not scared of dying. . . anymore. I am the reason for so many things, so many changes, that I will live forever. I am already immortal. What happens after this doesn’t really matter anymore. Who I am, you already know. Television had my face flashing all over world. Children in third world countries know my smile. They will grow up to tell their own children that if they’re not good, it’ll be me that comes to get them at night. My name won’t have to be translated for people to know who it is you’re talking about. My given name, my Christian name, will be forgotten. I will be the last face that people see in the darkness as they shiver under a down blanket in the summer. My laugh will keep people from entering a room without reaching in to turn on the light first. I made the church sit up and listen.

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