Supplier (Chapter 1)

What worth is a life if it's in constant dormancy?

A 'Fat Man's Dream' is what I'd most likely call my continuous frugal attempt at keeping the will of my body ablaze. A fight against my own conscience whether I should wake up with another breath the next sunrise. Yet I fail to understand why I ask myself that question anymore. The answer is the same every single time, I still remain, walking this deteriorating green planet.

My body ached to move, squished into the small closing of a low resting loveseat. It's fabric adorned with a few newfound colours different from it's original state. Stained much more than me with liquor, burns of the bud from cigarettes, and the blood of my upper limbs. I'd get it all cleaned out if I could. But unfortunately, I can't.

Perhaps I'm too down deep that I'd rather sit in a pigsty than actually face the piles in almost every corner in this apartment with lights barely surviving with a flicker. I should probably tell the landlord about that. Or not. I don't want another wellness check called on me. Not after Kathy actually kept her threat to call last time.

The apartment was nice for a while after that. But that was a small period of time before I couldn't care less anymore.Everything returns to its 'natural state' eventually. Some quicker than others.

It seems my life always spiraled to the same tipping point, just in different fonts. Repeating what broke me, repeating my despair. Perhaps the knife becomes weaker as time goes on, I'd hope so. But it seems now, the knife is stuck inside my heart. Waiting for my life force to bleed out slowly, creating a torture that drives me insane.

It makes my eyes and teeth crease and dyed yellow. My lips yearn for liquid that makes my throat burn. My nose for white dust that makes me see the stars up close. Make my lips bleed as I bite on them in temporary ecstasy.

My hand subconsciously gripped tighter around the hollow bottle. Bringing the tip close to my tongue, hoping for a drop of ease. But alas, it was my last out of my half a dozen batch.I should buy another pack after I receive my weekly paycheck at the end of the day...

Well last week's paycheck to be precise. Stupid managers.

Those idiots can barely do their jobs right and expect us to be their slaves. I'm sick of it, I'm sick of their games. I have no clue how Zaman stays so optimistic all the time, though he is a suck up. But a nice one I'll admit.

Nice enough to organise my schedule for the days where I most need it. It lays crumbled and streaked with oil on the coffee table situated in front of me. A page printed and coloured co-ordinated by tables and sweet affirmations for the day.

I reached out, my liquor bottle slipping the rough scale-like pads inside my fingers. The glass shattered into tiny spears that flew like thrown blades. I winced as some found home in my skin, creating glass splinters, a even bigger mess on the floor and carpet below me. I feared what my bare feet had yet to step in. I knew this was a mess I had to clean, but such a big hassle all this was.

I mean, I have shoes right? I'll just wear them inside. It's less energy and money draining, well after my broom broke at least. Many things broke in this apartment in the past recent years, I don't replace them, I don't feel the need to. They've been here since Rosaline. They're a memory of the past I can't seem to let go, tears cage my grasp.

My grasp that now held the wrinkled sheet of paper. It's colour seemed to drain against the atmosphere around me. My eyes scanned over the details, recognising the names to memory, taking in the first 7.5% of people I have to do for the day.

Red Van Customers List

Aiden Carter
Chen Xiu-Mei
Kiyoshi Umemoto
Marco Rossi
Sinead O'Connor
Amir Al-Farsi
Yuki Nakamura
Sofia Martinez
Raj Patel
Ingrid Svensson
Kwame Nkrumah
Elena Petrova
Tariq Jafari
Clara Dubois
Hakeem Mohammed
*PSA: Remember all addresses of the customers are tucked inside the rear view mirror of your truck. Maintenance guy moved it.

-Xoxo ZAMAN


I suppose life truly waits for no one. Reality really seems to hit everyday like a spiked hammer. I half-heartly folded the page and placed it back down onto the coffee table.

I skimmed my vision over my surroundings, my toes stung at the sight. If my nose hadn't gotten use to the stench, I would most likely puke. "Hell..." I muttered with a groan, running my hand through my hair which after years has migrated further and further up my forehead. Forming more grey strands than the brown. As well as having significantly less strands to consider it a full head of hair than compared to when I was younger.

Stray loose ends fluttered around as I maneuver across the room. Avoiding whatever junk that could pierce my skin, to litter it with more scars. Perhaps it would begin the hemorrhage of 'vice' that I so yearn for.

Carefully (not really) I made it to the washroom. Pushing down the rusted handle I entered. The cold tiles hitting my feet, a blunt contrast to the lice-like filled carpet filling most of the recreational sections of the apartment. The tiles were also sticky with substances I was sure I didn't want to remember, a shiver ran down my spine at the thought.

My hands held the sides of the sink, a reflection met my gaze immediately. Lines connected from the inner corner of my eye, ran dark into a shadow under my blue eyes, as well as an assortment of other wrinkles. My eyes dropped down to my abdomen, my reflection not making haste to follow. Shirtless as I was, I felt no vulnerability I didn't feel bare but I felt like there was a covering that was not myself stuck onto me. Even if that covering was kilograms of fat, sagging down my slightly above my pelvic area.

Absent mindedly I reached over to the packet of wet wipes resting on the windowsill behind the toilet. Clicking open the plastic cover, I slipped out about four to five wipes. It was slightly dry, so I opened the tap of the sink and let the water run down on the wipes for just a moment. After I took a bit of hand soap, squirting it on the now more 'wet' wipes, then I kneeded the few like dough until the soap bubbled up.

I took the wipes and ran them over my upper body. Scrubbing my underarms harshly, using my finger nails to dig out the old layer of deodorant, I used my thumb to pluck that grey mixture filled with sweat before I discarded it by rubbing it on my mirror. Leaving new streaks like the old that was crusted dry. I wiped my shoulders, momentarily I stopped at the fading tattoo.

'Robin Stone' with a heart around it. My ex girlfriend from about thirty years ago? Or thirty-five? More? I'm unsure how long it's been since I last saw her.

She was considered to have been Rosaline's aunt, but as she abandoned me, she abandoned her family. No one that I know of has seen her for decades, I'm not even sure if she's alive. She was just as messed up as me when we were younger. But I'm sure I'm much worse now. I'm glad that Cassandra was much better than her in terms of character, the nostalgic memories wouldn't have been so mournful if she hadn't. But I suppose she isn't to blame for that.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I can't keep thinking about them when I clean myself. I pulled my briefs slightly down, I wiped my private parts to a reasonably clean state. One where the stink wouldn't be noticeable before pulling them back up. The tag irritatingly itchy on my backside. Taking the towel that hung from the shower door I pat myself dry before throwing it in its original place.

Back I walk outside, displaying a small thought of caution in my steps once again. I found my way to my bedroom, which barely did I slumber in. Perhaps I would just lay against the sheets and watch the ceiling fan turn and turn... Waiting for something, waiting for time to pass. Maybe I'm waiting for its end.

Walking past the closet, it was empty of any use to me. I bent down infront of the mountain laundry basket, my ankles wobbled causing me to slightly loose my balance. "Ah!..." a gasp escaped my lips as I landed on my rear end. My hand caught the ground before I could tumble onto my back. I quickly got over the slight surprise and searched through the basket.

I took out the least potent smelling set of clothes, one's I could mask the sweat with a bunch of cologne. It was a crinkled light blue and white seersucker striped shirt, cream coloured cargo pants and a pair of navy blue docksiders that was in a box that laid stacked in the corner of the room.

Quickly, after lathering a bunch of deodorant under my armpits, I dressed myself. Not caring to iron, the moving around of the day will just crinkle it again if I did. So what's the point of doing it in the first place. I took a small pin, indentation in the stainless steel metal spelled 'Douglas Bell', I attached it to my breast pocket.

I seemed to never stay in the same place in the mornings, unlike the drunken night's, because as quickly as I entered I was to leave again. Grabbing my apartment keys, the list on the coffee table and my wallet, tucking it all in my abnormally deep pocket.

I listened for the knock that would eventually press against my front door. Usually on the dot when the clock turned to half past six.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

She never did more than three knocks, she thought that amount was enough to get the message across. Otherwise she'd leave me to better things. I glided my movements more freely across the room, due to the fact I had shoes on now. My feet wasn't at risk of being cut at various places.

Inserting my keys into the hole, I turned and unlocked the door. I opened it slightly so only I could leave, and she wouldn't be able to peak inside. " 'Morning Kathy," I greeted the very petite woman infront of me. Whose permanent sneer noticeably soften a bit.

"Good morning Douglas," she replied in a nonchalant tone, I expected no less. Her short black hair styled in an updo today moved rapidly with her sharp movements as she turned her back to me. "Come quickly, I can't have my kids late to school because you can't keep up," she said in a harsh tone.

I nodded along, not partially caring how she addressed me anymore. She was doing me a favor only because it didn't inconvenience her too much. She drove me to work every morning when she would drive her children to school since my work establishment wasn't too far away from the school. All I had to do was pay for her petrol everytime she drove me.

I walked behind her, trying to keep up with her pace. For a woman of her height, she was definitely a very fast speed walker. And in heels too.

We walked out of the apartment building together, past the parking that was only reserved for residents of the building and arrived in her rather big BMW. I sat in the passenger seat as she sat behind the wheel. Her kids greeted me with their big smiles. They were rather young considering that Kathy was only six years younger than me.

"Hi Uncle Duggy!" Nicholas and his sister Eleni shouted to which Kathy shooshed them to lower their tone. I chuckled softly, their lively nature was endearing and made my heart swell slightly. I ruffled both of their heads, my fingers glided over Eleni's head because her hair was made into a neat hairstyle. While my hand slightly messed up Nicholas' already messy hair, that always bounced as he ran around.

Kathy swatted my hand away from the children with a scolding look, "Don't, " she simply said before turning to the wheel. I raised my brows at her then shaking my head. Soon her hand raised in front of me with an open palm. I quickly scratched in my pocket and scraped out a few bills and gave it to her.

"This should be enough for the week," I said as looked at the amount and nodded half-heartily before putting it in the cubby infront of me. While it was open she took out a few sweets and handed them to the children in the back seat. Fueling their already hyper energy. Nicholas offered me one to which I took with an appreciative smile and unwrapped it. Plopping it in mouth.

I didn't particularly like sweet things, the sugar left a horrible aftertaste that I didn't desire on my tongue. But I didn't have the heart to reject the poor boy, the excitement that swam in his eyes when I took his offer cracked my heart. "So what are you guys doing in school?" I asked the two, trying to make conversation.

"Oh! In English I'm doing nouns and verbs!" Eleni said as she took out her school book. Showing me different activities that mostly consisted of questions that asked 'Identify the noun or verb in the following sentences'. She got most of them right and she seemed to talk on about how she got a sticker from a teacher when she got full marks on a spot test.

"Wow, I don't even remember learning that when I was your age," I mused as looked at her, her toothy smile opening back at me. Our teeth almost similar in arrangement, except her's wasn't as stained. "So what about you Nic? What you doing boy?" I asked her brother who waited like a puppy for his turn.

"I joined the soccer team! My coach says I'm very good!" he grinned as he showed me his soccer shirt tucked in his bag.

"Well aren't you both prodigies," I commented before I looked to Kathy. "Your mom sure is raising you to make sure she isn't going to a home," I humoured, taking light in the way her eyes raised and her lips turned into a ghost smile. Her amusement not very evident but it was there.

Like her reaction, I felt this was a temporary moment. Like every time else, every other morning. A fleeting highlight before the lowlights of the street greets me when I walk home. Where I fully repeatedly realise how pathetic I am. How pathetic am I to find solace in blood that's not mine. Just like years ago before Rosaline died, what fueled my grief. I'm a pathetic man, pathetic as it is.

I continued to converse with the children, although much less but I held my upbeat tone. No child deserves to hear such sadness, but eventually when they grow, life will rain on all the times of what they missed. No parent can cover a child for long, unless they want a child forever.

Kathy drove for another fifteen minutes before she reached my destination. I said my goodbyes to the children before I looked at her. I felt her fierce stare, "What?" I questioned, my tone coming out slightly harsh.

"Nothing, Dan just wants to know if you'd be available after work to go the pub with him," she said, referring to her husband. He was a nice man, sweet, friendly. A truly a delight to be around, but he was a little too pushy for my taste. Always trying to be friends. I suppose he's just worried from whatever tales Kathy told him about me.

I hesitated before I responded, "I'll see," was all I said. Which she knew was another way I said 'Most likely I won't'. She nodded as she unlocked the car and I exited. Waving goodbye to the children as she drove away.