END

                                    

                                          



       At a quarter to six in the morning, Edward stepped out of his car, became tangled in the seat belt, before he finally stumbled out. The sky was dark, purple and black, with only the suggestion of a lightness to it that foreshadowed the coming dawn. A cool breeze pushed against him. Summer was long over. He hadn't bothered to put on a jacket this morning, and so he shivered, stubbornly trying to ignore it.
                          
      Somehow, it blew his mind that gas stations were 24 hours; how on earth did anyone get any sleep working here? He stumbled past a mostly empty lot, towards the glass door. When he pushed it open, a little bell rang, and he felt, for the second time that morning a faint sense of deja vu. But that was not too odd. He came here almost every single morning.
                          
       He bought a coffee (he'd told himself it'd be black as he stood in the mirror trying to fix his tie with numb, tired fingers but it was near white with cream now) and gas, and said a mumbled, "How are you?" To the clerk. An old mad named Richard. Huh. He didn't know this guy. New, obviously, not a morning shift type, perhaps taking one for one of the others. The guy named Richard murmured a grouchy response and Edward hardly heard it.
                          
       Despite not knowing this man at all, he concluded that he was an asshole for some unknown reason. Call it intuition. Outside, another car had pulled up. Edward stepped outside.
                          
       He was staring at the ground, about to make the tired trek to his car, pump gas, drive to work, when he froze. He was not sure why. The sky had just begun, in those very brief moments inside, to come alive. Orange and yellow peeking out into the darkness. Edward blinked, and stared up. The stars were one by one beginning to disappear, fading to the bright light. He looked to his left. There was not much out here, and technically, he could take the less scenic route to work and arrive on time, but he liked coming this way. To his left, there was the woods that came over the road and surrounded this little station, holding it like a shelf. At night, it was frightening. At any other time, it was quite lovely. He blinked again, and looked, next, to his right.
                          
       There was a shelf of propane tanks, locked away with a little silver padlock. He stepped aside for a woman walking up, who gave him a cursory glance. I need to be at work in fifthteen minutes. But his feet were stuck to the spot. On the right of the propane tank shelf was a bulletin board. That board was there every single day, rarely touched, and ignored. He saw flyers of every kind, multicolored announcements, baby sitters wanted, and tear away coupons. Edward went to it.
                          
       For a moment, he just stared at it. It was very quiet, save for the sound of a waking bird, the rustle of the pines as a breeze sighed through them. He reached forward, and tore, gingerly at one of them. It ripped away dryly, sun dried and badly water stained. Beneath it, a movie poster. Edward tore that one away, too, and suddenly, his coffee slipped through his fingers. Oh nice. A dollar down the toilet, I guess, but he didn't quite care. His other hand came up, tore away again, and soon this was happening rather feverishly, in a panic. He ripped the whole bulletin board apart, hearing nothing but the tearing of papers, rustle of trees, and a single, sweet bird. He thought of nothing, except for a dim realization that he must do this, because something waited for him, or someone, and if he did not find whatever it was that had been placed here for him, then everything would just-
                          
       He came to an abrupt stop. The bulletin board, once emptied at this spot, was still a warm, brown-ish color where the papers had all defended it from rain, sun, and snow. Thousands of little holes filled it. Edward blinked. There was nothing there, but should there have been? His hands were trembling but he did not quite notice, full of papers that stuck between his fingers.
                          
       He let them go, reached up, touched the emptiness of the board. Well, that couldn't be, could it? The woman who'd gone into the store had stepped out, bags in her ringed hands, and she walked forward, stopped, looked at him nervously. She asked him something, but he didn't quite hear it. Something was dawning on him but he could not put his finger on what it was. A shift in his stomach, like terror, like...
                          
       A very, very hollow feeling. He swallowed. Felt cold, then hot. A shuddering breath wracked him.
                          
       "- okay? Sir..? Do you need somethi-"
                          
       "Huh?" He turned, suddenly, and the woman standing in the doorway clutched her purse and took a cautious step aside. 
                          
       "Are you alright, sir?" She asked, perhaps a fifth time, sounding exasperated.
                          
       "Y-yeah, why?" He asked, his voice almost a whisper. Her face was troubled, looking him up and down. He was sure he didn't look all too sober, although he was, or thought he was; messy hair, hardly fixed tie, unlaced shoes. He'd finish all the rest of that in the parking lot, he told himself, somewhere deep down.
                          
       "Just-" She began, then shook her head. "No reason." She walked away.
                          
       When he looked back at the board, he did so with the feeling he'd look at it and see whatever it was he'd come here for. With a feeling of deep disappointment, the board was still blank in the space he'd torn away. He drew away from it, straightening. His blood was rushing in his ears, but he heard only that. Is there supposed to be something else? He thought, confused, because yes, there was, but what? He thought he smelled smoke somewhere far off.
                          
       Something, he thought, grappling, touching the board as though it might appear, something is supposed -... To be here-
                          
       Edward touched his chest, felt the drumming heart beneath it, and did not realize the wetness in the corner of his eyes, the way the bird had been joined by several others, and that the breeze had stopped. The sun was rising, bringing warmth into the icy pavement, and it touched his back, yet he felt utterly cold. Another breeze touched him, ruffled his hair, brushed against his neck, warm, like a breath. He turned, and felt something rise in his chest, anticipation-
                          
       The white lighting of the gas station illuminated the filthy pavement. Sunlight shone onto the road behind it. The pumps were all empty, save for his car, beside it, and then himself. Nothing else.



                          
 END