Reverence

Reverence

Reverence works in accounting, in the low building on the street corner with cubicles and gray dividers. Reverence carries a worn backpack to work every day; the same one she’s used since Kindergarten. She knows everyone’s name, their spouse’s name, and how much they make, but no one, not even Bashful, who works next to her, knows her name. Reverence has pictures of faraway places on her cubicle wall, Brazil, China, Thailand, which only Fame and Arrogance get to experience. She has large, circular brown eyes, which are always brimmed with tears.

She walks with her head down, counting the ants, jealous of their inability to be emotionally hurt, or kicking the same stone; it goes ahead, but it waits for her to catch up, unlike the rest of the world. Reverence sits facing the corner in her apartment on sunny days with a cup of tea. She always looks up when speaking to someone, but no one speaks back to her.

Reverence loves lighting, gone in a second, but changing the world forever. She wants to be lighting. Friends are simply not a part of her life; they do not excite her. Now, changing which frozen dinner to have on Wednesdays, that is exciting; that is reliable. Reverence is pale. Reverence hums a tune her grandmother, Nurturing, taught her, as she wraps up her sprained ankle in a bandage. Then, Reverence closes her eyes in her impeccably cleaned white tiled bathroom, and she belts out the last note, totally off key. Reverence smiles, and she proceeds to bandage her bruised ankle, shaking her head in disbelief.