“I’m dead,” Noah Warholm whispered as he pulled into the gas station, the engine of his beat-up sedan rattling as it idled. The dashboard clock glowed 11:47 PM. He should have been home by now, collapsed on his lumpy mattress, trying to ignore the faint smell of mildew coming off from the apartment walls. His feet ached from standing all day at his day job, and his back was stiff from hours of driving around delivering food for his second job. Yet here he was, staring at the gas pump, half-asleep but content.
He didn’t need to fill up tonight. The tank was one-third full—enough to get him through tomorrow. But tomorrow wasn’t just any day; it was the day he’d been working toward for months. He had a meeting scheduled with a prospective big client, the kind of client who could change everything. If he closed this deal, he could quit his two miserable jobs and stop feeling powerless.
No more dealing with customers who yelled at him over cold fries or late deliveries that were not his fault. No more watching his boss take credit for his hard work. He could move out of his cramped apartment, away from loud roommates who ate his food. He could even put a down payment on a house and start living the life he’d always wanted—a life where he had control, where he had the power to do as he pleased.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
He reached into the left pocket of his jacket and brushed his thumb over the cool, smooth gold surface of his watch. It felt heavy, reassuring. The watch didn’t work—hadn’t worked in years— but it had belonged to his dad. His gramps had gifted it to his dad when Noah was born, back when they were still happy, before everything fell apart. It was the only thing he hadn’t sold when times got tough. He couldn’t. It was the one thing that made him feel like maybe, one day, he could be someone his dad would’ve been proud of—if he were still here.
He sighed, his breath fogging in the chilly night air, and got out of the car. The pump clicked as he started filling the tank, the smell of gasoline sharp and invigorating. He leaned against the car, watching the numbers tick up on the screen. He was tired, bone-tired, but there was this flicker of something else too. Hope, maybe. Tomorrow could be the start of something new. He could feel it, like a shift in the air, like the future he always wanted was finally within reach.
When the tank was full, he headed inside the convenience store to pay. The bell above the door jingled, and the clerk behind the counter didn’t even look up from his phone. The store was quiet, just a couple of other customers—a guy in a hoodie grabbing a bag of chips, a woman in scrubs flipping through the magazines by the door. Noah stepped up to the counter, pulling out his wallet, when the door jingled again.