At Some Point

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. In winter, spectacular gusts of pink and violet snow would waltz upwards, through the trees and the rooftops, all the way up to the stars; spring brought the crashing of leaves into the shore, every last leaf painted with a unique shade of gold or crimson or peach; summer would announce itself as it always did: flocks of merry tourists, everyone from here to London squeezed on that same strip of lilac sand; and every autumn, without fail, those vividly coloured leaves would retreat, disappearing into the mist of our great, wine-red ocean. At some point, someone must have betrayed William, because he could not see any of this. All he saw was grey.

Nobody understands a man who always sits alone through his lunch breaks. Are you alright, Will? they’d ask. Yes, he’d mumble, before immediately popping the earphone he’d removed back in. William never came to staff gatherings: birthday parties, leaving parties, christmas dos, none of them. Yeah I’ll be there, he’d say. But he never was. They shouldn’t have been surprised really, and they weren’t for long. He never stayed to hang out after his shift had ended. Next time, he’d say. In the first few months of his working there, they would believe him. Ok cool, I’ll look forward to it, they’d say. But after six months of Next Times, they’d learnt to stop asking. Even on shift it was the same. Someone would accidentally make too many bottles of OPTIMISM and sneak one under the counter for everyone to share. You sure you don’t want a sip? they’d ask. But he never did. He confused them, William did. Usually the shy ones come out of their shells eventually. But this timid creature didn’t. Before long, almost all interaction had diminished, even the hellos and the goodbyes. Why did he even take this job? they’d ask. He must really need the money, they’d decide.

A shop that sold happiness certainly did seem like a strange place for a man so miserable to work. They didn’t sell the best bottles in the city, but they had a good range, and their bottles were reasonably priced: £1.99 for 330ml of INSPIRATION, £4.99 for 700ml of COMPASSION, three for the price of two on RELAXATION. You would think that, like the rest of the staff, William would have taken advantage of his staff discount. The staff got 50% off whenever they wanted it. Plus, 25% off for family and friends and a £40 allowance, issued every six months, to buy any product the store sold. Not a single bottle saw the light of William’s home. The truth was that William was quite happy in his misery. He’d lost his faith. He’d seen the ways those bottles could change people and experienced first-hand how quickly ECSTASY, SECURITY, and SATISFACTION can wear off. So he kept himself to himself. He knew he couldn’t connect with these people, so he didn’t try. They didn’t understand him, and they never could. He’d go in, and he’d do his shifts, and he’d smile for the customers, and he’d give them whatever information they desired, and he’d eat his meal deals and listen to his music on his lunch breaks, and he’d sign out the second the clock struck five, and he’d go home and flick on whatever was new on Netflix, and he’d make his dinner from whatever he could find in the Tesco’s reduced section, and he’d check his finances every day, and he’d watch his money appear on his banking app once a month, and at some point, at some point, he’d become content with all of that.