I'm tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushing tired.
The fluorescent lights in the convenience store flicker overhead as I scan items with mechanical precision. Beep. Next item. Beep. Another energy drink for someone who probably has more excitement in their pinky finger than I've had in my entire seventeen years. Beep.
"That'll be $12.47," I mumble to the customer, a middle-aged woman buying cigarettes and lottery tickets. She hands me a crumpled twenty without making eye contact. Nobody ever makes eye contact anymore. We're all just ghosts floating past each other.
The rain outside matches my mood perfectly – gray, persistent, going nowhere. I've got two hours left on this shift, then I'll walk home through the same streets, past the same houses, to the same cramped apartment where Mom will ask how my day was and I'll lie and say "fine" because what's the point of saying anything else?
School was the usual nightmare. Jake Morrison shoved me into a locker during lunch – not hard enough to really hurt, just enough to remind me where I stand in the food chain. Sarah Chen smiled at me in chemistry class, but when I tried to talk to her after, she was already surrounded by her friends, discussing some party I'll never be invited to.
I used to think things would get better when I turned sixteen. Then when I got this job. Then when I finally grew a few inches and stopped looking like a middle schooler. But here I am, still waiting for life to begin, still watching everyone else live while I exist in the margins.
Meanwhile, I'm reading about protagonists who get thrown into worlds where they can actually make a difference. Where strength and courage mean something instead of just getting you labeled as a troublemaker. These guys start weak but become legends through pure determination.
I don't want some overpowered cheat ability like Rimuru where you just absorb everything and become god-tier overnight. That's boring as hell. I want to earn it. I want to struggle, fight, bleed, and claw my way up from nothing. I want people to look at my scars and know I survived something real.
I know it's stupid, but sometimes I wish something crazy would happen to me. Not necessarily good crazy – just something that would prove I'm more than just a forgettable kid who bags groceries and goes home to jerk off to anime.
I want to matter to someone. Not as a convenience store employee or a punching bag, but as someone worth knowing. Someone worth fighting beside. Hell, someone worth fighting against would be better than being invisible.
Even if it was dangerous. Even if I could die. At least then I'd know if I was actually brave or just another coward pretending to be tough behind a keyboard.
Dating? What a joke. I've been on exactly three dates in my entire pathetic existence, and each conversation was just a regurgitation of the same themes;
Somewhere along the line, conversations stopped being conversations and turned into reruns.
Different names, different smiles, but the same recycled lines—complaints about their boss, half-hearted jokes about their ex, desperate praise for some show they binged just to kill silence. The punchlines change, the rhythm doesn't. Everyone's reading from a script they never questioned.
I nod. I laugh in the right places. I pretend I haven't heard it all before.
But the truth is, I have. I always have.
It's like we're all actors stuck in a theater with one broken spotlight—rotating through scenes that feel more like placeholders than moments. Future plans that loop like commercials. Emotional stories copy-pasted from something they heard once and decided to call their own.
But here's the plot twist: I'm no better.
I don't bring magic to the table. I'm not some wildcard of wit and originality. I give the same automated responses, play the same "deep but not too deep" game, answer questions like I'm filling out a form that's been submitted a thousand times before.
And I've stopped blaming them.
It's not the people. Not entirely.
It's the world.
The monotony of scanning barcodes is simply suffocating. My power-tripping manager Steve is a constant presence as well, perpetually breathing down my neck to make sure I don't forget my place in the retail pecking order. I utterly detest every second of it.
Sure, it pays for gas money and the occasional game, but at what cost? My time, energy, individuality and joy – my life.
I want to meet unique, interesting women who don't just talk about TikTok drama. I want power, personal strength.
My phone buzzes. A text from Mom: "Pick up milk on your way home."
Great. Another stop, another delay before I can disappear into my room and lose myself in video games or manga – anything that takes me somewhere else, anywhere else but here.
The bell above the door chimes as another customer enters. I don't look up. It's probably just another ghost buying their ghost food, living their ghost life. Just like me.
But as I finally glance up, I see some weirdo in a dark trench coat standing there staring at me. Great. Just what I need – another nutjob to make my shift even worse.
"Interesting," they say in some fake mysterious voice. "You're exactly what we've been looking for."
I stare at them for a second, then let out a snort. "Dude, what the hell? Are you high or something?"
They don't even blink. "Tell me, Marcus – yes, I know your name – are you tired of being ordinary?"
"Oh wow, you know my name. Hey Genius, name tag says 'Marcus,'" I say, pointing at my chest. "What are you, Sherlock Holmes? Look, if you're not buying anything, you need to leave. I'm not dealing with whatever this is."
The guy just keeps smiling like he's in some bad movie. "I can offer you something extraordinary—"
"Yeah, I'm gonna stop you right there," I interrupt, pulling out my phone. "You've got about ten seconds to buy something or get out before I call my manager. And trust me, Steve's been looking for an excuse to ban someone all week."
"You don't understand the opportunity—"
"The opportunity to what? Get kidnapped by some creep in a Halloween costume? Hard pass, thanks." I lean back against the register. "Seriously, what is this? Are you trying to recruit me for some weird cult or MLM thing? Because I've seen enough true crime documentaries to know how this goes."
The mysterious stranger's dramatic expression falters slightly. They reach into their coat and I immediately tense up.
"Whoa, keep your hands where I can see them!" I snap, finger hovering over Steve's number.
They slowly pull out what looks like a piece of black glass or something. "This crystal holds the power to—"
"Oh my god, you're selling crystals?" I can't help but laugh. "What is this, some New Age bullshit? Let me guess – it'll align my chakras and help me manifest my dreams for the low price of $49.99?"
The person's mysterious act is completely falling apart now. "It's not... this isn't a sales pitch..."
"Right. And I'm the chosen one, right? The special boy who's gonna save the world?" I shake my head. "Dude, I watch anime. I know exactly what you're trying to do here, and it's not working. This is real life, not some isekai fantasy."
The stranger looks genuinely confused now, like their script just got thrown out the window. "But... the opportunity..."
"The opportunity to get murdered? Yeah, no thanks." I cross my arms. "Look, I'm seventeen, I work at a gas station, and I have zero interest in whatever weird thing you're selling. So either buy a Slurpee or get out."
They stand there for another few seconds, looking lost, then finally mumble something about "wrong timing" and shuffle out the door with their stupid crystal still in hand.
I watch them walk away through the rain-streaked window. "Freak," I mutter, going back to my register.
The rest of my shift drags on like usual. A few more customers buying energy drinks and scratch-offs, some high school kids trying to buy beer with fake IDs (seriously, do they think I'm stupid?), and the regular homeless guy who comes in to use the bathroom and buy a pack of gum with exact change.
****
Another gripping fantasy