Hand full of Dust

It was bland, tasteless, and squishy. At first Bree didn’t recognize it and almost chocked on it when she felt herself move in the chair below her. She hacked and leaned over, spitting out the small pink substance that shot across the counter in front of her. She stared at it for far too long before remembering that it was a piece of bubblegum. The generic pink flavor that rarely lasted long and was often replaced within a minute or two of it being chewed with another piece. Bree liked gum, she liked the taste, and how it kept her occupied and busy alongside painting and filing her nails. It was easy to get bored in the Bowling Alley because people’s enjoyment in bowling had been diminishing greatly in the last ten years.

A few people came. A family with two kids, the eldest barely older than five. A couple who kept kissing and couldn’t get their hands off one another between failed attempts at bowling and many gutter balls. The two honestly made her want to vomit. And here and there a man alone who kept getting strike upon strike hoping that a career as a professional bowler would maybe get him somewhere in life when really it wouldn’t. Oh and the random group of kids, barely teenagers who were always laughing, cutting up, and trying to slide down the lanes but no one that worked in the bowling alley cared to stop them or tell them to hush. Sometimes the teens would try and talk to her but she says all the wrong things to get them away. She doesn’t want their company and the boys don’t have a chance on getting into her pants which their stupid pick-up lines.

It was job, but a boring one at that.

Normally it’s bright and tackily colored in this place. But for once, it is completely dark inside. There’s not much of any noise and Bree just sits for a long time. She twists in the chair slightly, and looks around. “Hello? Hello?” She calls out but she only hears the echo of her own voice. A bowling pin falls over, a bowling balls makes a loud thud as it drops off the circle perch of other bowling balls when not used. In the darkness she can see shapes, the few patrons around lying on the ground, but they don’t seem to be moving. She purses her lips and after way too long she finally stands up from the chair. She grabs the nail polish and nail file and shoves them in the pockets of her jeans.

She moves to a lane and squats close to a man lying on the ground and she swears she sees him twitch. His bowling ball with his name inscribed on it in giant gaudy letters and flames sits motionless next to his head. She hesitates and carefully pokes him. “Hello? Guy, person, you, you okay?” A few more pokes and she sees his head turn sideways. Bree looks at him; he wasn’t attractive in the first place and had a mustache that wasn’t helping his face. But as soon as she sees his eyes, devoid of light and life she stumbles back when he suddenly moves. She turns her head and sees another body moving and then she feels nails on her skin and the man on the floor is reaching for her throat.

Bree kicks at him and squeals when he moans at her. She stands up and backs up quickly, not realizing she’s moving down a lane while being chased. She slips and falls on the slickness of the lane and the man does too. She slides backwards, he reaches for her. And soon she’s at the end of the lane. Her heart is beating too fast. Her hands look for something; anything and they find a bowling pin. He’s near her feet now and she strikes, hitting him on the head. It stuns him at first, but she keeps hitting him. She loses count of the amount of times she hits his head. But soon enough his head is crushed and he’s no longer moving. Pieces of his head are splattered about. “Oh gross. Just what I wanted. Brain juice on my new shoes.” She sighs, trying to wipe her shoes off on ground.

She skirts around the man, watching him to make sure he doesn’t get back up. She hears another moving, but she doesn’t wait to see who it is this time. With bowling pin still in hand, she hurries out of the Bowling Alley and finds that the world isn’t the same anymore.