Realistic or Modern The Starving Darkness (Closed)

[Manio]

Where our story begins...
---​

William Thorgood
William pulled into the small parking lot outside of the Dead End Diner. He had owned the business ever since his father passed away three years ago, and was surprised at how much he enjoyed running the restaurant compared to old job at a high-end restaurant in Hallowsbrook. It was 5 o'clock in the morning and William got here bright and early every day to get things up and running for the day. He stepped out of his van, and was quite pleased to see the local snow plow just finishing cleaning up the parking lot.

The exterior of the diner was small, and quaint. It had been built into an old log cabin that had been converted to have plumbing, electricity and gas lines. A green neon sign suspended from the roof that displayed the diner's name would flicker occasionally, which William was actually quite fond of. The Dead End Diner was originally built in 1932 by William's grandfather, and was passed down to his father, and then down to William himself.

William unlocked the front door and walked into the diner.

The diner wasn't extravagant or high-end or anything like that. It was more of a roadside dive, but William liked to think it had character. The ten booths were set with red leather seats and the leather was peeling away in places. Even with the lights on it was dimly lit, and years of fryer oil smell had saturated into the wooden walls. The floors were a black and white checker-board pattern, and had a rectangular counter in the centre of the dining room where eight stools were set up. This counter area had three coffee machines, a microwave and a glass case where fresh donuts were put on display. These donuts were made everyday by the overnight baker William hired who'd come in around 2 am and bake a good selection of donuts, breads, etc for the day and then head home. William thought it was a good investment and was always delighted to come in and smell the scent of freshly baked bread and donuts.

He got to work making fresh coffee for the three pots, with one always dedicated to decaf. After about half an hour of opening up he unlocked the front door, turned on the open sign and got to work in the kitchen preparing for the day.
---
Eventually, 7am rolled around and as the sun began to rise he could see people beginning to pull into the parking lot and step into the diner. He recognized the few regulars that came in every morning, who took their seats at the counter and he began pouring them coffee and asking them for their usual while he waited for the rest of his staff to arrive. During this process he turned on the TV that was nestled in the southern corner of the restaurant and flicked it over to the local news channel since his early morning regulars wanted to watch the news.

After pouring everyone their coffee and finishing up the opening up he retreated back into the kitchen to begin cooking breakfast.

Connor McCormick

Connor arrived at the diner around 9am, pulling up in his winnebago which served as both his home and recording studio for his podcast all about cryptids. The winnebago was a lime-green in colour and had images of Bigfoot and the Loch Ness monster painted all around the exterior of it. He peered out through the windshield and saw that a few vehicles had been parked outside already. He reached into his backpack and grabbed one of his "mushrooms" and swallowed it down, shook his head and stepped out into the cold winter morning and made his way into the diner.

He took his seat in one of the corner booths and began perusing through the menu. He wasn't a huge breakfast fan, but decided to stop at the diner on his way for his next road trip to do research on a new cryptid people had been seeing in Vancouver. The drive was long so he wanted to get started early and get some food in his stomach before he set off. The proprietor of the establishment came over and offered him some coffee, which Connor accepted and thought for a moment.

"I'll have the BLT with some hashbrowns. Thanks." Connor then nodded his thanks at the owner, and sipped on his coffee. He took out his phone and opened up the recording app and glanced around to make sure no one was listening in and began speaking into his phone. "I'm currently sat at the Dead End Diner just outside of Hallowsbrook. The trip to Vancouver will take some time, but I'm very excited to learn more about this cryptid people have been seeing and hearing screaming outside of the city. The Vancouver authorities said it's a mountain lion, but I'm not so sure." He closed the app, and sipped once more on his coffee and thoughts were racing through his head about what he might find in Vancouver.

 

[free cake]

Renee and Dominique Chang

The silence between the couple was palpable. The air in the car felt thick and suffocating- words unsaid seemed to hang in the air. The only thing holding back the uncomfortable tension was the local radio station playing in the background, currently playing a melancholy, wordless melody. Renee had set her head against the window, watching gently falling snow fly past. Her head bumped and jerked with the movement of the car, what would have otherwise been an aggravating inconvenience serving as a distraction from her intrusive thoughts. Dom kept his hand steady on the wheel, quietly focused on his surroundings. He watched for the recognizable neon green sign of their restaurant, releasing a small sigh of relief when it entered his peripheral vision. This discomfort had become common between the two of them; what once seemed so natural was now nearly impossible. The love for each other had left them; cute little quirks Renee had loved had become unbearable annoyances, as small disagreements had become fodder for furious arguments. Silence had become the norm; it wasn't worth it to waste their breath and speak when another fight seemed to be brewing at every moment. It was better not to try anything at all, like a wounded animal freezing instead of fleeing.

The car pulled into an empty spot at the back of the parking lot, and the two exited. Ever since they had fell in love, the unassuming little diner had been the site of many fond memories and relationship milestones; their first date, first kiss, multiple hungover morning-afters and once, a failed proposal. It'd been the only one of their habits steady enough to withstand years of brewing resentment and traditions being thrown to the wayside as their small, innocent differences became irreconcilable.

Renee took long, careful strides away from the car, trying to avoid patches of ice that had built up in the early morning. She pulled her jacket in closer to her body, the bitter cold biting at her exposed skin. She quickly pulled open the diner's door, and was met with the familiar warm air and scent of fried food that always seemed to pull her inside. She held it open for a moment before proceeding, having her boyfriend rush onto the sidewalk and catch it a moment before it closed.

All these years, the seat they shared had never changed. It sat near the far left side of the restaurant, a booth tucked in the corner; above it hung a framed photograph of the founder, standing proudly in front of his brand-new establishment. As they sat together, they didn't have to look at the menu to know their order. After six years, it hadn't changed in the slightest. Dom gave a quick 'thank you' to the cook as he placed 2 mugs of coffee in front of them.
"Raisin toast, 2 fried eggs and bacon?" The cook recited, scribbling into a small notepad.
"As usual, huh?" Dom gave him a friendly smile and a quick chuckle; inside, he was comforted by the presence of such a steadfast and reliable figure, no matter how impersonal. He had just opened his mouth to ask the cook how he was doing, if the roads gave him any trouble, what he'd been up to, when he walked off to go serve another table.

idiot ​

 

[idiot]

𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑.

"I'm trying my goddamn hardest," Janice screeched, brunette hair twisted in a dishevelled bun, "you need to cut me so fucking slack!" She sat on the moth-eaten, floral couch, a lit cigarette between her boney fingers as her knees bounced. Tiffany hated the smell of cigarettes. It reminded her of rot and decay.

"All I'm asking is for you to get a job," Tiffany huffed, stepping around the landmine of a trailer, avoiding the clothes and rubbish strewn about. She was already late for work and couldn't find Harrison's car keys.

"I had three jobs after your dad died!" She retailed, exhaling a plume of smoke. Don't mention his name. Tiffany balled her fist, painted pink nails digging into her palm. She didn't deserve to mention his name. "I'm burnt out, okay? You don't make it easy raising a fucking kid. You ain't no angel," the insults began. Tiffany was all too familiar with all of this. Her mother was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder when she was young but with the help of medication, she was doing fine. Then he died and everything went downhill. "I know why that police officer gives you nice things like that car--"

"Harrison. His name is Harrison," Tiffany wasn't she why she pretended to not know his name or maybe all the drugs truly had fried her memory? Harrison was a police officer that had caught Tiffany shoplifting numerous times. He even dated her mother for a bit but that fizzled out real fast thanks to her mother's inability to hold a stable relationship. He was the only one of her mother's many boyfriends that she actually liked. After an explosive fight with her mother, she remembers running in the thundering rain and before she even realised she was knocking on Harrison's door. She had nowhere else to go and it seemed Harrison was the only one she had. From there the two developed a fatherly-daughter bond; spending nights at his house, homecooked dinners, teaching her about mechanics and even letting her borrow the restoration project they worked on together.

"Oh, Harrison," Janice rolled her bloodshot eyes, "just like all my other boyfriends you steal, I bet you got down on your kn—"

"Ugh! You're crazy," Tiffany screamed, lips trembling in a burning rage, "I don't want your deadbeat boyfriends!" Tiffany snatched up the missing keys from the floor, slinging her handbag over her shoulder. Approaching the trailer's door, Tiffany held took a moment. Say it. Taking a deep breath, Tiffany lowered her head and spoke, "I wish it was you who died, not dad..." slamming the door behind her before she could respond.

***​

The music blared in the restored red 1971 Ford Mustang, Tiffany's well-used converse flooring the pedal. The car roared across the empty, icy road. Fuck, I'm late again. Tiffany hoped William wouldn't mind. She had been working at the Dead End Diner for the past year to earn money to eventually move out of this hellish town. Only a few more months of school and she should have enough. So close.

Skidding to a stop in the car park, Tiffany hopped out, cherry-flavoured lipstick settled in her mouth. Her deft hands bunched her dyed, brassy-blonde hair into a loose ponytail, pink ends brushing up against her waitress uniform. The first few buttons were left undone, her lacy-red bra peeking out. The cold seemingly didn't affect her. An overbearing sickly-sweet scent wafted from Tiffany, thanks to her favourite perfume.

The familiar bell sang as she opened the diner's front door. Shedding the drama from this morning, Tiffany's bubbly and confident persona took over. Spotting William in the back she waved, "I'm sorry, Will!" She chimed, dropping her handbag behind the counter, "I lost track of time and the traffic was crazy," clearly joking about the traffic considering the road was basically dead over the winter period.

Tiffany's stomach grumbled at the heavenly scent of William's cooking, reminding her she hadn't eaten today. Grasping a pot of hot coffee, Tiffany began her rounds, humming a tune as though she hadn't a care in the world. If only that was true.

𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑.

He held the revolver's barrel under his chin. Seated in his overly expensive sports car that reeked of alcohol and stale takeaway. His phone was by his side, missed calls and messages lit up the screen. Nathaniel hadn't been home for the last two days and his appearance was beginning to reflect that — still dressed in his work attire, tired eyes and heavy stubble along his angular jaw, which was usually clean-shaven.

Two days ago he was fired from his surgeon position at Vancouver General Hospital. He didn't want to think about why as it only brought pain. Instead, he drowned himself with alcohol in hopes it made him magically forget. Nathaniel couldn't face his family after it...so he didn't. Without a word to his colleagues or family, he drove out into the middle of nowhere and eventually, he made it here, to the Dead End Diner. Now isn't that ironic, Nathaniel thought when he saw the harsh, fluorescent sign.

Finger on the trigger, Nathaniel closed his eyes tightly. Taking a steady, deep inhale he didn't hesitate any longer, pulling the trigger.

Click.

Blinking his eyes open, he tucked the gun into his brown coat. "Breakfast it is," he murmured to himself, stepping out into the cold and making his way to the diner.

 

[tallonisfarout]

Sophie squinted at the bright white sky, an unbroken blanket of clouds guarding against any stray sun rays that threatened to escape. She groaned before slowly raising into a seated position and rubbing her temples. She blinked her bleary grey eyes repeatedly until her vision cleared, allowing her to survey her surroundings. She was in the cab of a semi-truck, sprawled out on an unlined twin XL mattress placed atop the folded front seats. Her host for the night had seemingly vanished, probably to do a load of laundry at the dilapidated Wash-n-Fold on the other side of the parking lot. Perfect.



She stretched her arms as far above her head as could be allotted in the cramped cargo hold. She ran her slender fingers through her blonde hair, catching on knots and tangles every few inches. She quickly redressed, plucking a half-smoked cigarette out of the trucker’s ash tray and sparking it. There was no telling how long ago the man had left, or when he’d be back, for that matter, so she had to work quickly. She gave one final cautious glance out the windshield to scan the parking lot for any onlookers before popping the dash board open and leafing through its contents with the skill of a trained thief.



“Nothing?” she grumbled, biting down on the filter. The glove box contained nothing but a binder full of paperwork, a few pens, a stack of discarded scratchers, and an empty cigarette pack that had been smashed flat. Sophie slammed the glove compartment shut, making no effort to work quietly at this point. It was a wash. She gripped the handle of the passenger side door and tested it. Click! The lock engaged, allowing the door to open just a crack.



“Good,” she thought to herself. “They don’t always open.”



She slid out of the passenger side door, landing squarely on her feet. She slipped away from the parking lot, leaving the door wide open behind her.



---



Two hours later, Sophie had begun to regret her decision to head West out of town. She knew that it was best to stay within city limits, but something about the trucker just wasn’t right. He had come from up North and slept at a lodge for the weekend before driving the next haul in the early hours of the morning. It would be hours, he said, before he pulled up to the gas station where he eventually met Sophie.



“It wasn’t like it is out here, not like no storm cloud, either,” he would insist as Sophie sat uncomfortably in the passenger seat. She listened politely mostly to avoid having to speak up, despite the man’s half-baked ramblings. She supposed he just wanted to hear his story out loud; that somehow it would justify his claims. “It’s like the sun just…never rose. Weren’t no clouds to speak of, but no stars neither.”



“Like at dawn?” Sophie asked against her better judgment.



“No! Aren’t you listening? There weren’t any clouds, stars, or nothing! There was no light. The sky stayed just about the same as it had been all night. Grey. The air felt…heavy.”



“Maybe there’s a storm coming our way?” she shrugged. The trucker sighed, unsatisfied with her response. Three hours later, they were getting stoned together in the cargo hold, all thoughts of storm clouds and space aliens momentarily forgotten.



---



Sophie entered the Dead End diner, pushing the trucker’s sunglasses on top of her head to aid her eyes in adjusting to the fluorescent lights. She sat down on a bar stool, ordering just a cup of hot water and a lemon wedge from the pretty teenager who was rushing around behind the counter. Diners were a good spot in the mornings, especially ones like these. Usually they had pastries or some other concession leftover from the night before. She stuffed her hands in the pocket of her coat, her fingers brushing a familiar texture. She pulled out a wadded fifty dollar bill and smirked. Maybe the trucker guy wasn’t so bad. He was fucking looney, but at least he wasn’t cheap.



“I’ll take a coffee too, when you get the chance,” she called after the blonde waitress.

 

[NoQuillToLive]

Danny Thomas - Tired Soul.

How long since the digital lines were starting to blur together? That red was becoming blue in the dizzy clouded irises of one Danny Thomas? Just a fleck that stretched thinly through his haze — eyebrows, delicately punched together in the parking lot, hands, swiping against the screen angrily. He was frustrated and dead, emotionally, his inspiration that was fleeting through his fingertips like mist, something was there, elusive, rolling against the empty beaches of his head. No. He wasn't on a luscious island, he was in the parking lot to one diner that barely registered when he came in — tilting his head to the side and his tangled mop that brushed up against the car window. Admittedly, his unkempt appearance was the result of driving all night and the diverging lines of wrinkled clothes only committed to that thought. Danny fumbled for his phone in the darkness, illuminated by the new creases in the sky, a hint of blue in the dull light of the diner windows, tugging that up to his ear juggling his tablet.

Deep breathes, he said to himself, as the untimely demise of the phone ringing, and exhaling upon pressing his thumb to answer.

"I just need more time for the project," He huffed into the receiver, a hint of panic that was skimming underneath his flickering tongue. "No, no, you cannot move the deadline Paul and nor can the client--" He hated that the tiny car merely echoed his voice. Like he could detect this own papable fear was licking the inside of his cheeks and bobbing in the front of his teeth. All sorts of wrong sounds. "Sir," Danny begged, catching a glimpse of his pale cheeks in the side view mirror. "Please, just-" And like that, the line went dead and the angry fizzle was Danny's boss.

Was it appropriate to bang his head on the steering wheel?

He did so anyway, revelling in the tiny throb, smacking up against the leather and dragging his chest away with a thunderous laugh. A laugh that pitied him and the unreasonable schedule to be expected from undertaking more hours to finish the stupid art piece. Danny collected a scarce hand, tossing his door open, 1994 Alfa Romeo 164, a little pricey at the time, but the car has served him well over the years (nicknaming her Juliet), for all the shit she's endured underneath his reign of sleepless nights and long hours.

She was an old girl of grey, but the youth of her engine purred like she was brand new (what his pride said to him), and unhooking his keys. His eyes flittered to the tablet and in all the glory of wanting to earn his paycheck, was fetched alongside both and bumping his hip up against the side. It smacked with a tiny thud and that was that, with a finalized beep in tow, all locked and loaded.

Skipping a boot forward, underneath the cosy dinner, welcoming scent of coffee and pastries, tickling every fancy that made his lips wet with anticipation to have something in his stomach. Danny rusted his fingers through his hair, finding a booth, an empty booth, spotting a few people — regulars that were seeking shelter from the chill encroaching — a waitress or two scampering about.

It was better to find solace in one of the booths, dropping his tablet against the table and keys, reaching around to find whatever was left of his coffee 'fund,' and draping his fingers against the Nasa shirt. Yeah, he was generating those type of vibes, washed-out jeans and a watch on his wrist (aesthetically more than functional). A wide smile was fixated on his face, crooked nose twitching at the smell of coffee and thought, yeah, today might be an okay day. (At least the coffee was warming up his rather sombre thoughts)

--

Dorris Dayton - Excited Penguin

Dorris Dayton was the visual representation of spring, or seemingly so, comfortable sweaters that were drenched in every colour of the rainbow boasting a big yellow stitched cat and flapped with little blue ears. She waddled in with all the enthusiasm that matched the sun, stretching over the Jeep she had taken to get here, breakfast was important, Doris mused through the bundle of bags looped around her arms. With the dingle of the bell, Doris finally landed in a personal dream of cake and fresh morning breakfast. What else could a grandma ask for?

But the morning dictated a routine, smiling at the pool of varying individuals, Dorris made sure to greet everyone with the personal warmth that seeped from her cheeks and to the glaring white pearlies (artificial), however, didn't dim the glimmer in her brown hues. Like she was cruising on the good vibes of the morning and the biting chill was an afterthought.

"Good morning my dears!" Dorris addressed anybody near the counter, dropping her bags onto one empty stool. "It's a chilly one out there today, nearly thought my buns were gonna freeze up!" She rang, assembling the gaggle of her belongings onto the smooth countertop, a jangle of keyrings that was her theme tune upon moving. The diner was such a quaint thing to the old lady, none of these new up and starting restaurants that buzzed more modern inventions than service, corporate machines. It was nice to see such a wholesome business that was surviving out in the rough tides, and that thumped her heart with all the sugar that was about to be in her coffee. Character! She further lamented, squishing her cheeks against the stool and getting comfortable. She did perhaps think a booth would be better suited to her knitting endeavour but the counter was attracting such an intriguing bunch that little Dorris wanted a slice of conversation pie.

She waved her wrist, doing just that, apple pie and breakfast tea, requesting for just a tiny dash of milk seperate. A tiny pot that was boiling next to her mug, Dorris was particular about patterns and older motor functions tended to be a little strained at times. But helped to have some semblance of normality to rely on.

"Hm! I am going to be eating you out of house and home if this is how you make an apple pie." She complimented upon finally tucking into her treat, Dorris nattered on and on, even if nobody was lending a tentative ear to her ramblings. She had no use for those dang mobiles, phones? Well, she did, but Dorris felt too out of her depth, thus, leaving to the side and out of sight.

But a mental reminder to contact her daughter, ever the worrier,

--

 

[NekoQueen49]

It seemed as if it always got harder and harder to get out of bed. Bobby looked at his blaring alarm on his bedside table. Groaning, he reached over and pressed down on the snooze button none too gently before taking a moment to rest on his side. So far he had snoozed that alarm 5 times. It was originally set for 5am. Now it was 5:50. Granted, Bobby didn't have to get up this early since it was his day off from work. However, there was this fear that accompanied his routine. The older man already felt like he was slipping, especially considering his health. His mind drifted to what his doctor said about his blood sugar. Pre diabetic, he said.

Bobby hadn't given much mind to his health before. A young man's luxury that Bobby didn't have anymore. He probably should start to eat healthier, exercise and whatnot. It all seemed so... daunting. Heck, he never considered those things before except for that once upon a time high school football team. But that was before he lost- No, he promised himself that he wouldn't think about her anymore. The past was the past and it should stay there.

With a heavy sigh, Bobby rose from his bed and rubbed his face. His body ached at the action but it wasn't like he could stay in bed all day. He quickly and sloppily made his bed before heading to the bathroom for a quick shower. Might as well just follow my usual routine for now until I get things figured out, he thought. That meant a stop at Dead End Diner, his only source of 'real' food and where he found what little social life he had outside of work before making a stop at the auto parts store to pick up that belt and other spare parts for the 03 Chevy Tahoe that was broke down in his garage. He got it from the same junkyard in Hallowsbrook that he got most of his projects.

Dressing himself in his usual fashion of stained up t-shirts (this time it was a dark blue version that had a tattered hem) and jeans, Bobby pulled on his worn yellow boots and his vest and jacket before leaving his house. His truck took awhile to warm up in the frigid winter before he could drive. From there, the normally 15 minute drive took an extra 10 minutes due to the snow that built up on the back roads that led to his isolated house. In the end, Bobby arrived later than he usually did, when the restaurant first opens.

Bobby shuffled towards the door upon arrival. The cold must have affected him because he felt more sore than usual in his joints. He gave William, the owner, a customary nod when he entered the building before making his way to his usual spot. It threw him off a bit when he saw someone he didn't know in the booth he usually sat. A youngster with brown hair in one of those new styles. His eyes narrowed, huffing in annoyance. But rather than face off with the out of towner, Bobby settled in behind him. As such, he ended up accidentally over hearing his mumbling. 'Cryptid?' That reminded Bobby of some sort of bug but what bug could be mistaken for a mountain lion? Writing the youngster as a weirdo, Bobby waved the mutterings off and made a short gesture to Tiffany in an attempt to both greet her and bring her over to take his order. Not that his order had to be guessed at. Scrambled eggs, hash browns and an extra side of bacon, each and every week. Maybe he should change that now?
Mentions:
Manio (William & Connor)
idiot (Tiffany)