“You think you can handle tonight, Jackson?” I ask the young employee.

The clock strikes 11:30 pm. An army of excited customers peer through the store windows, eager to commence Black Friday.

“Sure, whatever.” He moves his oil-like hair out of his face. “You better pay me that overtime. I’m almost done paying for my first semester.”

That was the only way I could convince him to help tonight; offering more than normal overtime. It’s cheaper than scheduling the rest of the staff. The less the store spends today the bigger bonus I get! I’ve lived in darkness for the past couple of weeks, so I hope that the extra money will keep me treading water.

Other Buy Worlds choose to hire guards for Black Friday, but the evil hordes of shoppers are a myth. Never in my 42 years of grocery shopping have I experienced any crazy shenanigans.

“Finish setting up that display over there will you?” I point Jackson to where the eighty percent off sign fell from the hatchet display.

We’ve had those things sitting around here for so long. It’ll be nice to be rid of them.

“That kid is trying to get the deal early!” A lady with a short bob cut announces from the other side of the sliding glass doors.

“Let’s get in there.” Another customer shouts.

A stone shatters the front door, sliding across the tile with shards of glass. A great roar like that of the store’s air ducts follows the horde invading the narrow opening. The guests trample over each other like a tumbling display of canned soup. The bobbed-haired lady lies among the trampled. Shards of glass penetrating deeper into her palms with each foot to her back.

I’m an oblivious mother who’s lost her kid while shopping as I try to take in the chaos. The monsters are tearing my store to shreds. Fist-fighting over the last of a useless product just because it’s on sale. Thousands of dollars of damage. I can kiss that bonus goodbye.

A burly man towers above Jackson, whose tear-swollen eyes beg for mercy, on the floor. A pistol nestles against the kid’s forehead.

I can’t believe I thought these consumers would be civilized. These products mean nothing. I struggle to keep my lights on and these animals are fighting over game consoles and fancy kitchenware.

I swipe the hatchet from the display. The cheap synthetic handle gives the tool an uncomfortable weightlessness. Jackson’s eyes widen. The burly man turns to face me but it’s too late. The hatchet buries itself into his neck, crimson goo staining Jackson’s face and the ceramic tile he sticks to.

“Let’s go kid.” I push the dead weight off him, dissociating from the atrocity I committed.

The store is gone, but at least we still have our lives.