Story Writing a short story for the first time.

[lohre2000s]

Hello everyone, I noticed a lot of people enjoy art (which made me really happy to be honest). Recently I decided to give it a shot writing a short story for the first time. I've been writing it slowly for about a week and I would like some tips or maybe just your thoughts. It's supposed to be something of a character study on losers and how their life cycle is very similar independent of the genre - human suffering is suffering either way, just translated a little differently.
Anyways.... I have no idea if it is ok posting this here, I'm just assuming it is cause it's the offtopic forum and there are posts similar to these? Well, thanks for reading until here, now here is what I got so far. By the way, no I'm not planning on going published with this or anything fancy, it's literally my first time writing something like this, also, the formatting is ass I know I gotta fix this.

lose
/luːz/
verb
to suffer deprivation of : part with especially in an unforeseen or accidental manner



After bathing in the cold rain of loneliness at night, she finally got home. Took her soggy clothes off and entered the bathroom immediately, ready to cleanse her body and foul her mind to the scrutiny that her thoughts tend to bring as she bathes. It was one of the few select moments of her day that she did not endure, but kind of liked it.
The embrace of the absurdly hot water on her scalp ached for a few seconds, before she got used to the pain - the woman whimpers at this moment.
Her skinny little fingers crawl up to the shampoo bottle to abuse it. The almond smell would permeate the whole room for a few seconds, and eventually it'd become a little hard to breathe inside the steam. That was when she would tease herself… maybe…just maybe she would stay a few more seconds in the locked breathless room. Maybe that would be a little too much and she would collapse, cracking her head open in the sink or on the floor. Maybe!
*sighes* - she does as soon as the bath is over.
The rusty door hinge cries as the soggy, hot from the steam hand of hers touches it.The good part is over. Now she has about 5 hours of free time before she needs to go to sleep and wake up to the meat grinder of a work she got.
It's a tuesday, which means this routine will repeat itself for about three more days before the weekends, which were a little bit easier solely by the fact the woman did not need to contain herself during these days. There was no one to answer to besides herself. If she wanted to touch herself for 12 hours straight she very well could, but she wasn't that kind of girl.
Father didn't raise no whore - she thought to herself whenever a nasty idea came to mind, and mind you, they did come to mind quite often these days. She was in her prime, they say, she ought to find a man, they say. What if she doesn't want to? What if she prefers the company of her dirty scheming hands? Oh please, even she doesn't believe that very comforting lie… she tried to. Father didn't raise no liar either.
The woman stood in the center of her bedroom, both of her surprisingly pretty eyes piercing her bed. Wondering how much she'd have to wait until it was the right time to go to sleep. Her mind drifted away to work. Washing her hands, and wearing the frown-faced uniform God gave her, she saw herself at the fast food chain that paid her bills, doing things as she always did, treating customers as she always treated. Handling it. That she did. One of the coworkers interests her, maybe for his energy or perhaps his immaturity - he is, just a kid after all. She heard the useless chit chat the other coworkers frequently did during work, and it seems like he was there to pay for college.
She didn't particularly enjoy any part of her work or "colleagues". She hated the fake smiles and the expensive laughter-to-conversation that happened during the mindless job as she was disgusted with the own food she cooked for customers. There was no redeeming factor, and mind you, the salary was terrible too. It is terrible. It will be terrible. She thinks, reminding herself that this is not her life. It 's her future.
As some very smart person once said however, it can always get worse. It did, when this kid joined.
It bothered her. It physically bothered her to watch him succeed at that mindless job. How does one succeed at being mediocre? Her coworkers were very pleased by this addition to the cast, a replacement for the woman, they probably thought.
"Oh thank God for that new kid…He makes the job so much fun."
"Riiiight?!"
"I heard he's working here to pay for his tuition, what a noble young man."
"He is kind of needy though right?"
"Yeah sometimes, he's still funny as hell though!"

Her eyes twitched and her body shivered to this thought. The job was never good and she hated every second of it, but it was mindless. She deserved mindlessness, she deserved uselessness and mediocrity. This… was something else.
She knew what the kid was. It takes one to recognize another, and he was not good at hiding, just like her.
After his first day, the woman felt so much anger she actually threw up to the thought of going to work the next morning. Watching his smirky expression and funny public self-contempt… There was no magic, no violent threats, and yet, he managed to get into everyone's graces in the very first shift. Oh how infuriating it was for her.
Whenever she'd think about him, he'd take no shape. As a matter of fact, if asked by gunpoint, she could not describe him. He had black hair and… normal height? normal weight? his face was… normal? Don't even try asking the color of his eyes. She didn't care. She never did and she was thankful for that, which made it a lot easier to not get too invested. Of course, there were times she'd get aroused by specific males, but she could never tell why.
"I am fair to myself, sure my ego is a little too big,and I can be a little too needy but I am not futile!" She thought.

She'd finally lay down on the mattress and die for the day, to wake up in the dreams and nightmares to come tomorrow.
Many people would say the hardest part of the day is getting up. Not for her. The hardest part comes before that, a few seconds after tearing her eyes open, just when her senses come to her and she notices: "all over again." Once or twice she actually started crying on her pillow, only to arrive late at work - this excited her. Would her coworkers notice the wet, stained eyes? Would they show compassion? Indifference? Laugh at her? Like the first day at a new school, you'd wonder the possibilities, perhaps this would be the trigger her life needed.
Eventually she's up and starts packing herself up. Had a man ever entered her room he'd think nothing of it. It looked perfectly girly and tidied up. Inside her closet, several different dresses, shoes and pants lined up like a grotesque but chic slaughterhouse. So many options to choose from, yet she barely looks inside it, and often doesn't even open the closet. What will be the wrapper for this very sweet candy? Please.. there is no candy here. This one is no more than a fancier coffee sweet, you know, like the ones you'd see filling up jars at kid's hospitals only to eventually, probably weeks after being filled, be eaten by a very sad wrinkly grandpa. She wore the blue dress - yes, the same one she used yesterday and last friday.
No breakfast for her today. There was no time, she'd spent a little too long making out with her pillow.
Picked up her keys, her worn-out purse and dashed out the front door. From here on out, it takes about twenty, maybe twenty five minutes of walking to work. She didn't need to take a bus nor a train, both options which usually are filled to death with stench of self-abused middle aged men and sweat, not to mention the noise… it drove her crazy in the college years and it was sure to drive her crazy now.
The woman would pay attention around her, looking for anything to justify her self retaliation late at night… And it would be justified, she always managed at least that. Eventually, this natural hunger for excuses took the shape of two lovebirds, just a few meters away, coming towards her nonetheless! The pussy cat pounced towards its prey - It took one pair of eyelashes that flashed cynicism and a smirky smile to destroy that relationship, and she liked it. The husband would soon become just another unity of society's misogynistic fauna, as the bland seducing of the woman hooked him. He didn't need to act upon the blinked suggestions, his wife would already start nurturing a bleak mistrust in her partner after the exchange that happened that morning. Truth be told, this was not necessarily the woman's fault… the wife's life had already carved in her mind the poison of insecurity long before she crossed paths with this bitter young woman, and the husband… if he truly got any ideas from this very minor gesture, he'd eventually find another armor to wear his cheating with. When you strip this situation naked to it's gray wrinkly skin, one thing became painfully clear: The woman was powerless.
It didn't feel like that… it felt brave, felt like mission accomplished, and most importantly… after disgracing the perpetrators of her melancholic idealizations, it felt fair.
The couple kept walking, pretending or not, to not have seen her.
Later on, she'd observe a few kids going to school. They were giggling, sometimes minding the pace of their walk so no one loses this charming little parade. She was impressed by their independence, albeit disgusted by the parents'carelessness… this was a peaceful avenue, but true love would ignore logic and still worry. Love… she knew not much about it, but whatever it was that she learned, came from her dad.
Differently from the other girls, she did not enjoy parties or romance during high-school. She felt puberty the same as any other girl, and when the needs (at the time they were not scrutinized) began and her body began to bleed, Dad was not much help.
"There are things a man just wouldn't understand…" she thought, for the first time in her life noticing that… her Dad, and herself, were not the same.
The parking lot facing the restaurant was empty. The graffiti on the walls screamed at whatever political ruckus was happening at the time, and there was a bicycle chained next to it. It was the janitor's.
As it was a little too early, she approached the wall and stood there next to the bicycle, smoking a cigarette - the only self-destructive habit she had for lack of control instead of self-hatred.
"Oh.. good morning ma'am." The owner of the bike approached her from a distance.She'd just smile and nod.
He's a black man around the 50s, maybe 60s. Wore the same outfit everyday, a red old linen overall with a blueish shirt underneath it. It'd be easy to mistake him for a beggar.Since she started working at the restaurant in front of the parking lot, she's always seen him there. Everyday, he would arrive just about five minutes or so after her. It depressed her, and at the same time she admired it. The janitor was always slitting his face with a kind smile. He is very good at hiding - she thought. In the woman's reality, the poor old man hated his life.The greetings and kindness were no more than a sorry mask he'd try wearing, so maybe the costume becomes the outfit. He'd try to keep positive, try to be kind, and eventually, it would not be enough. She was certain he'd be found dead, probably alone in a dirty ditch somewhere, with the only one hugging him being a piece of scrap metal taken from his bicycle.
In reality though, he looked at her, admired her daydreaming for a while, and smiled once again, only to say:

"Thanks for looking after my bike."
As if by instinct, or because it was the only programmed reaction her brain had, she smiled and nodded to the man. The woman rushed nervously to the restaurant like a shy kid that just got called out for missing homework - would this truly be about a difficult assignment, besides the name and date fields, she would surely be found paralyzed after reading the title, in full bold and italic irony spelling: KINDNESS.
Inside the restaurant, she started cleaning, sweeping, organizing what little she had to organize. Once she'd notice something out of place, the woman would slowly, peacefully do her deed - this quieted her mind, even made her doozy. It was way better than that cigarette in the parking lot.
Soon enough clinking of keys and footsteps would advise her to stay low, for the day has finally begun. It was time to turn herself off. Smile to a customer, greet a coworker and play her part.
The recently hired man would arrive not a minute later or earlier than whatever was agreed upon on his contract. Sometimes he was quiet, these days the mood would be heavy and melancholic for the woman and her coworkers. The oh so friendly coworkers… they would laugh, hug and drink to the boy's humiliating monologues and self-shaming. He preached about his insecurities towards women, the incompetence of his teenage years and how terrible he was at everything, preaching and humbling himself, only to find himself accidentally speaking the truth.
It was through these uncomfortable moments of oversharing through jokes that the woman finally carved in stone whatever it was she actually thought about him: "A wolf in sheep's clothing comes around claiming to be scared of sheep. Sheep are unpredictable he says while showing his bloody stenching fangs.Still, the wolf believed his lie.Did this make the wolf a sheep too? Stupidity. Of course it didn't."
Today was one of those days where he was quiet and indifferent. He'd go through the job mindlessly and occasionally comment about one customer or two, he needed to make sure everyone knew he was there. He needed to be heard even though he wouldn't speak, just stutter and cry - like a little kid that lost his mom at the alcohol aisle in a big supermarket, he craved for being found, so he'd throw little tips here and there. Perhaps he would slide in this little bit of truth amidst conversation as a joke, since he really didn't care he had no plans for the weekend right? Maybe he would start singing the favorite music of a coworker just so a conversation would be started about said song, which in all honesty, was not very good at all. He'd never bother the woman though. He avoided her, same as she would with him.
The man, a deeply sad creature of control is left blindfolded from the maze of life as soon as he realizes during his college years how much control he did not have. Same as the woman he barely had any friends besides little devils that whispered chaotic commands in his ear - he was completely alone, too scared of everything to understand why.
You could say the twenty-something kid was a failure. He failed at life in his 20s, couldn't connect with anyone because of his very strict definitions of friendship and he was absolutely terrible at everything he tried, even though he did try everything. Like a dog, a filthy old dog tired of being cute for it's owners, the kid hid himself so very deep under the table of self-relation that it became cozy under there. He didn't want to leave and even if he did, he'd find a perfect good excuse not to.
During his first day he couldn't take his mind off the woman. She was gorgeous with the eye pits and dark very very dark hair. She was quiet, perhaps a little too shy and maybe, just maybe, there was a chance she was interested in him. He thought, playing with the fantasy of platonic love he would never get to live. The woman instantly became a muse for the artistic coward, and so, he'd not touch her, he'd not talk to her, he would not do anything that could corrupt the beautiful image his mind painted. Sometimes he wondered if she could ever pity him and from that sorry feeling, develop something deeper.
Flipping burgers and public humiliating were both such mindless tasks for him that he would simply daydream during it.The boy didn't have to take a bus to go from home to work and vice versa, still, whenever he finished the shift he spent hours walking around the nearby area, sometimes he'd sit in a park and observe the kids and parents doing their beautiful dance. He admired it, until he didn't. The realization that beauty was, for someone like him, nothing more than a beautiful song he would never be able to properly comprehend let alone play it.
The modern day Prometheus he was, living in a nest of furious eagles that punished him for his failure at manhood. As smart as the kid was, inside his nasty meat casket lied a deeper arrogance he could not see.
It is I, it is I, the modern day Prometheus - he thought, feeling some pride over his melancholic idealizations.
At home, the TV was always on and he was greeted by flashes of light,gunshots and cold one liners from Hollywood heroes such as James Bond and John McClane. They were now his heroes too, and with this, the mistake of trading love for discipline until he was molded to the unreal reality of the big screens was already frayed inside his mind.