Beep…Beep…Beep….
“Your total will be $34.89,” said the shopkeeper. “Thank you, and enjoy your emotions. See you next week.”
For the shopkeeper, this was normal; it was a typical Tuesday evening, and his regulars were going in and out of his store during their usual times. Although he claimed he didn’t, he favored one of his clients, Henry. A tall, tanned, green-eyed, toned man who walked every Tuesday, at 3:08pm without fail.
“Next.”
“Hey Chapel, how are we feeling today?” said Henry.
“Henry! A pleasure, what are we buying today… only happiness?” questioned the shopkeeper.
“Yeah, I figured I would try something different today. I already have a week’s supply of the other emotions, so-“
“Just remember to restock, don’t stay too low on the other feelings,” Chapel warned. After the brief interaction, Chapel watched Henry leave through the automatic sliding doors, glancing at the cars ahead of him as he dragged his oversized cargo jeans down the road. Truthfully, the shopkeeper admired his youthful spirit. In a way, Chapel grew nostalgic about the stories Henry would tell him– it was as though he could see himself through him. Even if he didn’t agree with Henry’s grotesque fashion choices– the shopkeeper always preferred skinny jeans – it never stopped him from striking a conversation with him whenever possible.
Amidst the anticipatory Tuesday talk, the shopkeeper decided to present Henry with his tribulating dilemma of his brother’s death. Oddly excited yet saddened, the shopkeeper awaited his arrival.
3:08p.m
“Another supply of happiness? Didn’t you buy your dose last week?” Started the shopkeeper.
“We have BOGO for fear and sadness this week, did you see?”
“Yeah, I saw, but only happiness today, I don’t need either of those things.” Henry righteously said.
“Strange,” thought the shopkeeper. Henry’s response didn’t correlate with his usual tone; it was different. Chapel suspected it was likely due to a lack of his other emotions, but it was too soon to tell, so he continued.
“Well…I got something to say,” said the shopkeeper
“What?” questioned Henry.
“My brother passed…”
“Oh…”
Henry’s eyes stared blankly and stayed solemn. No other words were uttered aside from:
“Okay. Sucks.”
Shocked with the lack of empathy, the shopkeeper stared into Henry’s green gaze, trying to find the sparkle that greeted him last Tuesday.
Beep…Beep
“Would you like your receipt?”
Henry left.
Confused and humiliated, the shopkeeper grew anxious with this new attitude of Henry’s. With thoughts bombarding his head like atoms heating up, Chapel drew the only logical conclusion: his favorite client lacked sadness. In other words, Henry lost the ability to understand any saddening sentiments, rendering him apathetic, slowly turning him into a controller without a battery. Unable to accept this new temperament, Chapel decided he had to help Henry before his lack of emotion became permanent.
Tuesday
3:08p.m
No one.
3:09p.m
The shopkeeper’s foot pounded in restless beats.
3:10p.m
Cold sweats began running down Chapel’s neck.
3:11p.m
Henry enters.
Unease dominated the shopkeeper. His palms became rivers, and cheeks turned volcanic. He greeted Henry while rubbing sweat on his green apron, but this time he was ignored. Determined to get his friend back, Chapel secretly made a concoction that combined all of the human emotions minus happiness into a drink.
“Still buying the same emotion?” nervously asked Chapel.
“Yeah,” sassily replied Henry.
“What about disgust or sarcasm?”
“Don’t need it. I’m perfect now.”
“Shame?”
“No”
…
“Well, I am giving out free samples of fuzzy drinks if you’re interested.”
“No,” sternly said Henry.
“I know how much you like the-“
“No.”
Disinterested in Chapel’s words, Henry looked at the candies next to the cash register and took the king-size chocolate bar. Without second thought, he opened it and began to eat his bar as he paid for his weekly dose.
“Are you going to pay for that?” the shopkeeper asked, insinuating the chocolate treat.
“No.“
“No shame,” the shopkeeper thinks. “No fear, no sadness”– Chapel continues to hypothesize. “How much longer before the point of no return? Does he know what’s happening to him? Impossible.”
***
| Wednesday | Closed |
| Thursday | Closed |
| Friday | Closed |
| Saturday | Closed |
| Sunday | Closed |
| Monday | Closed |
| Tuesday | Closed |
Family Emergency. Store Closed.
For the upcoming week, the shopkeeper shut down his business.
Tuesday
3:08p.m
Henry arrives.
Looking at locked doors, Henry grabs a rock and breaks the glass sliding door that once diligently opened for him every week. No longer did he care about such trivial objects or consequences; he was doing what he wanted and was content with doing so.
Entering the grocery store, he found Chapel staring at him, almost as if he expected this response.
“I know what you’re doing Chapel,” Henry angrily said.
“Helping you?” said the shopkeeper.
“Playing dumb is an ugly look, even on a scientist.”
Confused, the shopkeeper stared at Henry for a few moments.
“You are too far gone, Hen. Apathy consumes you, narcissism eats at you, and distrust has now encroached your brain. You take happiness to validate the rest of the emotions you voluntarily stopped taking. I want to hel–”
“No. A person who wants to help doesn’t purposefully drug our emotions to become addictive.”
“What are you–?” mutters Chapel.
“Stop pretending!” Shouted Henry.
“We have all become your science experiment. Treating us like some lab rats– testing the side effects of different concoctions you sell!”
“Look Hen, you’re paranoid right now because your judgment is clouded with only one emotion. Let me get you a dosage before it’s too late.”
Henry, baffled and infuriated, cries out uncontrollably, as though needles are piercing through his entire body. Was it withdrawals? Possibly. In agony, Henry’s vision begins to distort. Out of reflex, he charges toward the shopkeeper, only to hear a
BANG.
Silently, Henry goes down, with his phone escaping his pocket.
“To think I favored you,” stated the shopkeeper.
“You shouldn’t have gotten so close. Now look what happened. I wished we could have kept talking, but…”
Watching Henry’s blood pool on the ground, Chapel picked up his red-stained phone before finishing his sentence. Turning the screen to face himself, Chapel realized that his ex-favorite client had been livestreaming the incident the entire time, and that the screaming sirens he heard earlier were not for a random cause, rather, for him.
Silence befriended him that day.