Unnatural Instinct: Wish

The kid won’t stop screaming and his mother is doing nothing about it.

It’s late into your shift, only an hour to go, and you’re on the brink of losing it. Teeth on edge, you pack the woman’s groceries, keeping your eyes lowered so she can’t see the judgement in your eyes.

He’s a fat little spoilt shit, probably eight years old. Old enough to know better as he sweeps his hand across the lolly rack, knocking a bunch of chocolates to the floor. The rest of your customers wait quietly behind her, saying nothing, doing nothing, though you can see in their faces exactly what you feel.

‘That’s eighty-five dollars,’ you say, lifting your eyes and lowering them again with a wince as the kid lets out a Godawful shriek.

‘Eighty-five dollars?’ the customer says querulously. ‘That’s not right, not by my calculations. You must have scanned something twice.’

The kid continues to scream. He’s tugging at his mother’s leg now, demanding lollies.

You bite back a sigh as you pull up the docket and scan it. ‘As far as I can see nothing’s been scanned twice.’

The woman narrows her eyes. ‘Let me see.’

‘I want this!’ shouts the kid, and he starts whacking his mother with the bag of Skittles he’s clutching in his fist.

You pull the docket free and she snatches it from your hand in a flash of blue acrylic nails. Her expression becomes uglier and uglier as she looks down the list. ‘The prices must be different to what they’re advertised. It should only be seventy-five.’

‘I’m hungry!’ the boy wails.

You can feel a headache building. You glance towards the clock but hardly any time has passed. Is that all? It feels like hours. ‘What would you like me to do, Ma’m?’

The woman frowns. ‘Don’t take that tone with me. I want you to fix it.’

‘I can’t …’

You grimace as the boy screams at the top of his lungs and throws himself onto the ground. The bag of Skittles splits and lollies spill everywhere. Still screaming, he kicks and bashes his fists against the floor.

‘Could you shut that fucking thing up?’ You don’t mean to say it. The words just tumble from your lips.

The woman’s eyes widen. Her jaw drops open. Then a snarl cuts across her face. ‘Get. Me. Your. Manager.’

You can hardly remember much from then on, feeling numb and stiff, like your body is made from a block of ice. That woman’s face is imprinted on your mind, though, as well as your boss’s. You’ve never seen him so red before—nor so big.

You’ve always told yourself you hate your job and you would never lose your integrity over it but when push comes to shove and you’re standing on the precipice, everything looks different.

’Get out,’ rings in your ears as he throws out his arm and points his trembling finger towards the exit.

It’s so quiet now. The child has stopped screaming and is grinning at you as he munches on a large chocolate bar. The woman is still livid but pleased—she got her shopping for free, just as she hoped, no doubt.

You want to say something, the words lick at your lips, but nothing comes out. Something has clamped itself around your throat. Your heart is sitting in your guts. And all you can think about as you walk towards the door is how you’re going to pay your rent next week.

On your drive home, things don’t get any better. You’re so dazed and disorientated you don’t realise the car in front of you has stopped until you stomp on your breaks too late. There’s a bang! Horns blast. A man climbs out of his car. All you want to do is drive off home and curl up under your covers. Instead, you thrust open your door and get out. The man is already shouting, looking as red as your boss did.

You don’t say much, your tongue all tied up, feeling so numb your movements are jerky. Somehow you exchange information. At least the damage isn’t severe but your bumper is hanging crookedly off the front and there’s an ominous whining noise coming from your engine as you pull away.

You make it home and drag yourself up the driveway. You try to get your key in the lock of your front door but your hand is shaking so hard you miss it several times and have to use your other hand to steady yourself.

Music is pounding through the walls: Sarah’s home. You should probably eat something, you can feel the hole in your stomach, but you have no appetite.

The first thing you do is strip down and step into the shower. The water hides your tears; it even helps a little with the pain.

Back in your room, you hold yourself as you stare at your reflection. Tears streak your face. Your eyes are sunken in your head. You’re so pale you look sick. What a right royal fuck up. What the hell are you going to do now?

You drop your chin to your chest, despising yourself more than ever.

You know you’re not supposed to take anymore today but the urge, the need, is too great. You reach into the drawer of your bedside table and take out your bottle of pills. It’s almost empty but there’s another bottle in the kitchen. You’re shaking so hard you accidentally knock the book to the floor.

You bend over to pick it up and realise that it’s fallen open upon a picture of the Dark Prince.

You stare as your skin prickles unpleasantly. ‘What the …?’ It’s a picture you’ve never seen before. How is that possible? You must have read the book a hundred times!

His mismatched eyes gaze up at you, looking so real that when you tilt the book, they seem to follow you. There’s a small curl to his lip, as if he’s enjoying himself. His achingly beautiful face looks as real as his eyes and you can’t resist the urge to brush your fingers against the page. Against his smooth cheek. You swallow hard.

Beneath the picture is a caption: All you need do is wish it.

A chill runs through your body. Are you going crazy? You hurriedly flick through the pages—they all look familiar, dog-eared and covered in fingerprints—before turning back to the picture. The page looks brand new. Untouched. Has someone slid it into your book? But when you tug at the page, you find that it’s firmly stuck, and you have to conclude that it’s always been there.

Hiding.

The book slides from your trembling fingers, hitting the floor with a thud. It’s fallen face-up, open upon the same picture. His eyes seem to tunnel right through you.

Using your toe, you close the book shut.