March 18th, 2023
Start of shift - 8 am.
Mrs. Teller came in, purchasing the eighth pack of cigarettes and the first pack of gum. Her consistent joke about minty breath seemed comforting. Like the predictable ticking of a clock. Behind her, the radio played a soft tune that whispered, “All is well.” It was going to be a good day.
March 18th, 2023
Start of shift - 8 am.
The comforting eagle emblem of the soda spilled over as the machine acted up. Mrs. Teller’s visit felt like a warm embrace of routine. The kids outside played, their laughter almost acting as a counter to the soft whispering I thought I heard from the radio, “Remember to breathe.”
March 18th, 2023
Start of shift - 8 am.
In the restroom, the etching read, “Honor the past, but welcome the future.” Outside, a faint reflection in the window, not quite mine, seemed to murmur. Mrs. Teller seemed more distant today. Or was it me pulling away?
March 18th, 2023
Start of shift - 8 am.
To change the script, I spoke to Mrs. Teller first. But time was resilient. The radio crooned a melody that seemed to repeat the words “Stay with us.” Was it a new song? The reflection appeared again, this time behind the counter.
March 18th, 2023
Start of shift - 8 am.
The radio’s tune now seemed persistent, almost a pleading note, “Don’t lose yourself.” The reflection became clearer, a distorted version of me, mouth moving but no sound. The patterns — Mrs. Teller, the soda, the reflection — seemed to form a daunting maze.
March 18th, 2023
Start of shift - 8 am.
The manager’s advice rang hollow. The reflection seemed to be trying to tell me something. Its gestures frantic. Mrs. Teller’s face appeared more concerned. Was she sensing the chaos beneath my calm exterior?
March 18th, 2023
Start of shift - 8 am.
Repetition was no longer comforting. It was an endless hallway, the same doors over and over. The reflection was more tangible now, palpable in its desperation. Mrs. Teller reached out, touching my arm. The coldness startled me. Was it her or the creeping dread?
March 18th, 2023
Start of shift - 8 am.
The radio now emitted static with vague whispers of “Find the way out.” My reflection was no longer confined to the window but moved around the store. It mimicked my actions, but its eyes held an unhinged terror.
March 18th, 2023
Start of shift - 8 am.
Mrs. Teller’s once warm eyes now held a pitiable sadness. The reflection screamed silently behind her. Was I the only one seeing this? The weight of each repeating day pressed down on me, the walls of reality thinning.
March 18th, 2023
Start of shift - 8 am.
I avoided mirrors, windows, any reflective surface. The kids no longer laughed outside. Their eyes mirrored the same fear I felt. The labyrinth tightened. Mrs. Teller whispered, her voice breaking, “Please, find help.”
March 18th, 2023
Start of shift - 8 am.
The day was a blur. My reflection, no longer just an image, stood beside me, its cold fingers gripping mine. Together, we faced the maze. Mrs. Teller was a faint echo, her pleas drowned by my reflection’s haunting lullaby.
March 19th, 2023
Start of shift - 8 am.
The store was silent. The labyrinth had consumed everything, leaving a vast emptiness. The reflection was gone, leaving only a note on the counter, “You are not alone in the maze.” Outside, the sign for the gas station flickered and died, as Mrs. Teller, her face stained with tears, placed a “Closed” sign on the door.