February 13th, 2033.
6:32 A.M.
Queens, New York.
The buzz of the cheap alarm clock on my nightstand was more violent than usual. It didn't beep; it screeched loudly maybe after years of used it has finally started to deteriorate.
I groaned at the new and horrific sound as I slapped it hard, my usual routine, the button has became stiffed and stuffed with dust over the years making a hard nudge the only way to turn it off.
My body protested as I rolled onto my side, the mattress springs jabbing me like dull, rusted knives. I could feel their spiral ridges pressing into my skin through the thinning fabric. The air in my room tasted or rather smell like old socks and well you know what after a hour on the hub.
I am Theodore Willam.
Twenty-three years old.
I've got clear skin, hair as black as pitch as a raven feathers, and bright gold eyes...an odd little quirk no one cares enough to comment on. But my mother once told me out eyes that shine like gold is family trait unique only to the Vulpe family.
For my body? Well let's just say if you compressed shame into a human form, you'd get me. Not quite obese, but way past chubby. And just fat enough to be uncomfortable in every chair, every mirror, and every photo... I am the literal embodiment of the American lifestyle.
My apartment, a crumbling third-floor box in Queens, was held together by poor construction, and duct tape that cover some noticable holes in the wall. While the walls themselves were a faded yellow, like nicotine stains that had been painted over too many times.
Water dripped from the roof, and the walls, and my mattress sagged like it had given up too, and the only source of light was the cracked TV resting on a milk crate beside an empty ramen cup.
Static flickered on the screen before the anchor's face appeared, smiling like someone who has never once been broke a day in her life.
"Today marks the tenth anniversary of the United States largest and most anticipated lottery jackpot."
She chirped with excitement, and clear enthusiasm.
"The Lunar Draw held only once every ten years is estimated at over $900 billion. Yes, you heard that right, folks. Nearly a trillion dollars is up for grabs."
I stared at the T.V. unmoved but my attention still clear. For weeks these new anchor's has been reporting on the topic of the Lunar Draw.
Nine.
Hundred.
BILLION!
"That is enough money to make even the most religious person say they will punch God in the face in front of live T.V."
I muttered, sipping from a lukewarm energy drink. Breakfast of the damned.
After a quick shower with only a thin half soap left, and a defeated towel-off with a shirt that once fit, I wrestled my bulk into the uniform of failure. A faded blue polo, baggy khakis with a tear in the inner thigh, and a name tag that read [Theo] in chipped plastic letters. Meanwhile my shoes were held together with glue, but one wrong move and I will be leaving them behind on the sidewalk as I walked to work.
Outside, the wind blew hard, and morning sun shine dimly over the horizon. The bus ride to Atlas Grocery was the usual sounds of coughs, groans, and one guy watching anime at full volume on his headphones thinking no will hear him, but brother we hear you loud and clear.
I sat by the window, watching the gray blur of Queens pass by as per usual.
Eventually I reach my stops after paying my fares, and I walk up to my work building.
The automatic doors at Atlas opened up. And immediately I pinch my nose, fours years at this dump and I have yet to become nose blind to the scent of this dump.
The store smelled like bleach, wet cardboard, and spoilt milk.
But the scent itself was the least of my concern. This hell hole I called work had literal demons that plague my work life.
"Look who finally waddled in."
Came the familiar voice of Trevor, standing by one of the shelves with his smug face. He was a bleach-blond, gym rat, twenty-one, and his body was filled with alot of different tattoos.
"Hey, Theo, bakery called."
He snorted at me as throw one of his classic but cringed ass insults.
"They said thanks for cleaning out the samples again."
Marcy, perched beside him, he didn't even look up from her phone.
And yet she made it her duty to find time to berate Theodore.
"Don't fat people eat before coming to work? Like, isn't that their thing?"
However I ignore them, as I walk pass them to go the cashier, but at the same time I walk pass Jessica, the cosmetics aisle queen, wrinkled her nose as she said with disgust.
"Can someone spray something? I think I just got a whiff of greasy pits and sweath."
Even Miguel, the quiet produce guy, gave a smirk. He wasn't special but fit in due to the share intrest of the group as such he also picked up their horrible attitude, and self centeredness.
"Careful in the break room, man. You sit on one of those chairs too hard, it might be a crime scene for the chair."
I said nothing. I never did. You learn not to speak when the world's already judged your every breath as a mistake.
But there was one person, one strange, shining anomaly in this dump that didn't make me feel like a bug under glass.
Talia.
She leaned against the lockers, sipping from a can of coffee with one hand and scrolling through her phone with the other. She had blonde curls, long lashes, glitter on her nails. She wore her uniform with a kind of rebellious way that had her sleeves rolled up, and her name tag bedazzled, with a black sweater tied around her waist.
She had tan skin, giving her a Carmel texture, and a sexy figure overall.
She glanced up.
Her eyes green as jade caught mine and softened, as she called out to me and said.
"Yo, Theo wassup dude."