Margret pulled her new uniform on quickly and stuffed her mouth with a bagel. The clock’s hands moved to quickly for Margret to keep up. She was going to be late on her first day of work. Mazurka moaned by her side, not wanting to be left alone with her father. As Margret opened the door to her apartment while eating and trying to get her key out she glanced back at the old man on the couch. His snores roared through out the room and he barely fit on the tiny cushions. Margret slammed the door and raced out of the building.

It was to early for anyone to be out, the sun still crouched along the horizon. Margret rushed down Polaski Avenue but didn’t make it to far before a collision. Out of the ally way a man stepped out. Margret tumbled hard, skinning her hands and knees along the pavement. The blood showed brightly against the small bits of left over snow. But there was no time to be concerned with her wounds. The man lay flat on his back yelling at the top of his lungs. The words hit Margret’s ears loudly but they were strange and unrecognizable. Margret tried desperately to consol the man. “Are you ok? I am so sor…” He immediately lunged forward punching Margret hard on the jaw screaming at her in his strange tongue. Margret felt immediate dizziness and the pain was unimaginable. The man grabbed Margret up by her hair and pulled her face close to his. “I don’t know what you want but don’t ever mess with me again. I will be watching you.” The Russian accent was clear in his thick voice. Margret noticed the blood spots along the man’s face. The man threw her back to the ground, evaluated her limp body, and walked briskly away.

Margret stumbled to her feet still unable to concentrate or understand the current event. The blood was hot and continued to pour. It stained her new cloths and covered her hands and face. She fell against the wall beside her and felt the pain take its full effect on her body. She hunched in a daze glancing to see if anybody was near by. And there across the street, up on top of the bank, stood Jesus. He stood still watching Margret intently in his white toga he made from bed sheets. His face was contorted in concentration. They stared at each other for a while, Margret still in a daze and him in continuous delusion. Suddenly the man started flapping his arms wildly screaming loudly. Margret moaned and gave up hope on the crazy. He could not help her. “You there! I am Jesus!” He continued to flap around. “You have somewhere to be!” He yelled to Margret. He stopped moving and stared intently on Margret once more. She looked up in surprise. That’s right. She was late for work.

Margret hobbled the rest of the way to the pharmacy still trying to wrap her brain around the threat. She had never been attacked like this before. She entered the building and headed straight for the bathroom. She scrubbed the blood from her hands, knees, and nose. The wounds burned but it kept her from feeling upset. She was yelled at for being late and being covered in blood. Through out the morning she stood at the cash register counting money and trying to be as nice as possible to all of the customers. Her nose never stopped bleeding and stained many dollar bills. She tried everything to try and make the blood stop to the point of shoving toilet paper up her nose.
“Ewo. Ow cun I hep you?” Margret asked one woman.
“Om, I need to pick up my prescription for Loretta McMurphy.”
“OA. Ho on a secon.” Margret got the woman her medicine. She stared at Margret in slight confusion as to why she had stuff up her nose and she was covered in blood but left with out question. But Loretta was much kinder than some.

“What happened to you?” a guy asked who came to pick up a prescription for a Ferdinand Fernadino. “Where you at the Jaguar last night when that guy was arrested?” Margret burst into tears.
“A guy pun me in a sree is moring. I wa lae fo wor!”
“Sorry I asked,” He hurried out of the pharmacy.

Margret left the pharmacy after a harsh warning about being late and bloody. It was six o clock she headed to the pub where she was to meet her dad. He sat on a stool being served by a middle-aged woman. When he saw Margret stumble in with her bloody self he started to laugh. He laughed harder and harder at Margret standing at the door. She felt the hatred boil in her stomach again at her fathers lack of sympathy. But she knew what she owed him and she was aware of her debt. He could laugh at her condition. There was a price to forgiveness.