The Candy Store

There was a translucent red light refracted on the walls inside the candy store coming through the high glass walls. In the back of the store, multiple colored candies rested, each different type inside a big container that hung on the gray concrete of the back-wall. By the red ceiling, the light of the sun rays turned its color, a contrast against the wide, dark-gray floor I was standing on. On the ground level of the building, the top view of the New York skyscrapers reached my eyes– it was an impossible edifice, the entrance on the street, yet the view from the windows was a bird-eye view. And I was peering from below up to the top, multiple stories in each gray building, a long antenna could be seen in the peak of most structures, blue reflective surfaces in each floor, where people could see the outside but not the inside, a sight from above inside a ground-floor room. 

Every sound that was made echoed in the corners of the room, conversations bounced off of the walls, my friend’s voice was the loudest, her high, Czech accent could be heard everywhere. Whispers about school and dinner were formed by the vibrations of the vocal cords, and I heard nothing but nonsense. 

At least I could understand the words that were being formed and the conversation started to make sense the more I listened to it. At the second my name was mentioned, the conversation turned bitter, as if my name was venom on their tongues. Across the room was the place where they stood, the distance between us was shortening and the room felt smaller than what it was, suddenly I was near them.

By mistake I have heard the dialogue with sparkling curiosity. The gossip has mentioned make-up rumors and is using my name as the protagonist in them, they say I manipulate and utilize the ones around me, just because I switched tables at dinner yesterday. With her harsh glare staring into my eyes, I hear her yell at me, a reproach about how I just use them as a second option. 

The next thing in front of me is a closed fist at a faster pace than I imagined, going straight to my nose as I stand there. I can feel the noise the punch makes, I can feel the red liquid flow inside my nose, slowly pouring out, I can feel it trickle down my face and into my mouth; it stains my teeth and my lips are bloodier than usual, it gets in my tongue and I can taste its metallic taste– it doesn’t stop, the blood pours out from my nose and it doesn’t stop– it drips down my chin and stains the floor, it makes my mouth redder by the second, the taste stronger as it mixes with my saliva, making a pool in my mouth, I can smell it. I feel the nausea revolve my stomach and go up to my throat, I force myself to swallow it, and the blood goes down my esophagus with the nausea. 

Suddenly I smile, my bloody teeth showing, the silence is loud and their shock is all that is seen on their faces, wide eyes and some mouths agape, all of it for me as if I had a crazed look on my face. The blood is still streaming down my nose like a cascade from the mountains, I swallow it again and lick it off my lips, the feeling of nausea increases, my hands have a slight shake, everything goes fuzzy in an instant and then-. I have opened my eyes.