Finally got it back
ok, so we finally got my laptop working again, so that short story i wrote in like july, is finally back in my possesion. so here's the post. you people beter frigging read it too, cuz i don't post often, and if i don't post often, you need to read the ones i do make... got that? hmm? good...
The shock of consciousness, the sound of static, the pain of grogginess. It was morning, the misfortunate truth of Monday. Work, it always meant work. Morning meant he’d have to get up and go to work. Maybe it wasn’t the work so much as having to get out of bed. The comfort of unconsciousness was just too nice to leave behind.
Lifting himself from the bed, he stood, wobbling a little bit on his unsteady legs. Scratching his bare leg he wandered into the bathroom, his eyes half closed. He turned on the light, cringing away from the sudden pain in his eyes. As his eyes adjusted he looked into the mirror. His hair was a mess, as it always was when he woke up. He wished he could look better, more appealing, but it was hard to think of what he could do about it. It’s not like it mattered now. No one wanted him now. He was a failure in life, work, school… marriage.
The can made that ever irritating sound it made when the shaving cream exited it into his hand. Rubbing the foamy substance onto his face, yet another part of his day he hated. Shaving. He did it every day just before work. Just one more reason to despise the morning.
Cleaning his face with a towel he walked from the door of his bathroom back into the darkness. After so much time in the light the darkness seemed to be less inviting. He hurried into his room and turned the light on. It hurt, but it warded off the darkness.
Proceeding to get ready he went into his closet. Pulling out one of his white button shirts and a tie that suited his taste today. Another pair of bland tan slacks to make the outfit complete and he got dressed. One more monotonous task to one more monotonous day.
Looking himself over in a mirror. He looked just like he did every Monday morning: tired, groggy, irritable, but presentable. That was all that ever mattered, that he look presentable for work. Whatever it took to pay the bills he supposed.
Out the door and down the hall to the elevator in a couple short minutes ha stood waiting to enter the elevator down to the ground floor. A resonating bing and the door opened. Several people awaited their descents as well. He climbed in and joined them in their wait down. Several minutes passed, but the door finally opened releasing them from their lonely confinement together back into the world.
Out the door and then the walk four blocks to his work. Just one more thing to add to his distaste for this morning, for himself and for everything else. Above, just to his right, loomed the building he so hated. His destination. This place that had become the prison he could never escape. All the mistakes he had made had led him to this place. Had someone have warned him though, would he have listened? Would he still be here? Could he escape from the daunting destiny he had created for himself. One more door to enter, another elevator and another prison.
Looking up he counted. One, two, three, four, all the way up to twenty. That was his floor. That was the one he worked on. Customer service. He hated customer service. He hated customers. He hated himself.
Walking in he made his way to the counter. A line of people waited just as he did to be checked into to work. He handed the lady his ID card and walked to the procession of workers waiting to enter the elevator. The doors open, several people go in, the doors close. Day in and day out this happened. He had become quite used to looking at the tiled floor of the main lobby. The pattern it made and the little designs that mock stone had. Every little detail he knew.
They all awaited that sound. That little bing that told them to enter. Filed in like caged beasts they went up. He pressed twenty and went back to being alone. He never understood why it was necessary to be packed in here like this. He wasn’t some animal. Was he? Was he just another little pet in here? A little bird caged up, singing the little song he had been taught? Shaking his head, he burdened the thoughts away, waiting for the sound that would be his refuge.
The door opened and he walked out and to the right. “Level 20: Customer Service” the sign read as he walked by. He walked over to aisle eighteen and then on down to cubicle number twelve. His desk lay within, bland and brown, a computer atop it. A small radio with some headphones to his right and a picture frame next to it and the picture inside. This was his world five days a week, nine to five. He entered it, knowing that it was a prison, knowing that he hated it, knowing that it was his fault he was here.
He sat down and booted up his computer, glancing at the clock. Two more hours. Two more hours until the radio would be on and he’d have to listen. For now however he had some work to do. Filing mostly. He had to do that all day. Looking over emails and letters and then deciding where they should go. That was his day mostly. Look at complaints or questions, put them into a file and send them out.
User questions in one box, something not working right, another box. it was a never ending supply of questions, complaints and suggestions. Sometimes it was so bad he couldn’t wait to listen to the radio, but then he would look at the time and he would turn it on just to feel that inevitable depression.
A momentary glance at the clock. Not yet, not quite time. That meant back to work and monotony. As time passed he glanced up from time to time just to see that little had changed. The picture was where he had left it, and all the rest was as it had been for years now. That picture, that glorious and yet so prophetic mural.
How old was she now? Five? Six? She was probably six now if he had her when he was nineteen. How different things seemed back then. How much things had changed in such a short time. He loved that girl to death though. Tried his hardest to make sure her life would be better than his was. Had he succeeded? So long as she was happy he had a littler bit of sunshine in his life. Keeping that one ray of happiness was his life’s purpose, his only goal or reason. The little time he had with her he cherished. Time was short and went by to quickly. He had learned all of that the hard way.
The sounds of distant shoes moving and scuffing, coffee makers producing the fuel that kept this place going. All the sounds he had become so very used to in his time here. One more look at the clock and a flick of the switch to turn on the radio, it was time for his sisters radio show
It wasn’t much to listen to, at least not to his ears, but the family would be unhappy with him if he didn’t rise to the occasion of being his little sister’s biggest fan. “The eleven O’clock Lunch Hour Show is here for all you hungry listeners!” his sisters ever perky voice resonated from the headphones. She hosted this show every day for a whole hour. Sad to think that one of the few respites from his day happened to be something he despised so much. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his sister, but she was never the brightest bulb in the box. He had made the grades, had been the one to go off to college and then the one to mess all of that up. His parents cherished their peppy little rose bud as if she had ever done anything that actually required some kind of skill or effort.
Just one more thing in his day that made him realize how much of a screw-up he was. Sometimes he forced himself walk through it all again, and during his sisters show it was one of the few reprieves open to him.
None of it was overly spectacular. One night of drinking during his sophomore year at college and a girl he thought he loved. Looking back on it now it was silly to think he could love that woman. Or maybe, rather, that he would be so blind to think she loved him. The night ended and shortly after the verdict was in. she was pregnant and he was going to be the good father the child deserved.
To say things went downhill from there would be one grotesque understatement. He managed to get a job and an apartment, as well as quit his classes at school. Things weren’t going to be so bad, just not great.
RING! The sound of his phone ripped him from his thoughts. RING! It screamed again. Looking at the vicious little creature atop his desk in disgust he reached over and picked it up. He spoke in, giving the obvious rebuttal and awaiting an answer. His mother, as usual, calling to make sure he was listening to his sister’s hour of pain. Every day she called, perhaps an attempt at making him feel bad about her precious child being better than him. Maybe an attempt at making him want to do something more, something better. She never would understand that something better would never happen. Not so long as a little six year old required him to do it.
The call was over, thus forcing him to go back to the ringing irritation coming out of the headphones. Just a little longer and it’ll all be over. Sometimes he couldn’t wait to go back to working when listening to her. Maybe not because he disliked her and the attention his parents had always given her, but because he couldn’t stand to hear her success day in and day out while he sat at a desk in a cubicle awaiting the next pile of work.
Over. Good, it was finally over. Now he could go back to work. He stared at a pile of papers. Right now they seemed like a beautiful sanctuary, tall and steep. Right now they would be his place to hide, his safe ground. Until it became to small for him and he could no longer move within.
RING! The echoing sound of his phone again. He reached over to pick it up. RING! Stopping, he stared at the phone, wondering who it could be. RING! He was afraid. What did it matter who it was though? He just had to answer it and then say the hellos and goodbyes and then he would be safe again. RING! Building up his courage he placed his hand on the phone and picked it up.
He spoke. A reply came through giving him the knowledge to the identity of the voices owner. It was all that often that the ex called him. He would have to learn to correct himself; the divorce wasn’t final yet. Though he could be sure that that’s exactly what she was calling about. She would call every so often telling him that she hated him for screwing up her life, and for making things difficult or for whatever else she was mad at that day.
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I’ll get it in to you as soon as possible.” The words came out of him like clockwork. His voice was monotone, nothing left of interest in caring anymore. She was dead set on all of this, and nothing he could ever do would change that. She no longer cared about him as she once had so very long ago. How much things had changed since then.
“Yes, I’m sorry. Bye.” Finally the end of that, back to work he picked up letter after letter. A dance done to the sounds of shoes scuffing and people walking, one more letter into one more box. Half a pile down, one more half to go.
A sound behind him shocked him away from what he was doing; he turned around to allocate the location of the sound. “I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this…” His manager. Was he speaking to him? “You’re a great worker, hard and fair, but the company has to lay off a couple people and you didn’t make the cut…” No, he just wanted to scream it over and over again. No! This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He needed this. He needed this more than he needed life. “We’re going to give you two weeks though. Just so you can tie up loose ends and find a new job and such… sorry… I really am…” His words went right through him. What did it matter anymore? Now he’d have to find a new job and a new way.
He couldn’t remember getting up, or walking home or even going inside and getting his keys. He didn’t remember where he was or where he was going but he knew he didn’t care. He just needed to be out, out of all of it. Out of those horrible prisons and cages. Out of the bondage that was forever holding him down.
He didn’t remember where he was, but he did remember the lights. He almost could have sworn that they were the lights of angels afterwards. The lights came as the angels of death came upon him to whisk him away.
He remembered the crash and the sound of metal ripping and tearing all around him. He remembered the cold sensation of death grip him, pulling him away, pulling him towards the warm embrace that he desired so badly.
He didn’t remember dying, but he did remember the sound of the sirens and the people screaming and crying. A different set of sounds, a different dance, this one far more deadly.
He didn’t remember his parents, or his life, or his wife’s pretty face or the sneer she had always had when regarding him. He didn’t remember his sister or all the days he had listened to her wishing it was him. He didn’t remember growing up, or being young, or being old. All he could remember was one face.
That sweet face that he had made his life. That smile, those beautiful eyes, and that giggle. In the end he remembered all the important things. He remembered her birth, and her growing up as far as she had gotten before this time. He remembered her as she had been with him: happy and worriless.
He felt bad though. Not only because these people were all working so hard to keep him alive, to keep his worthless existence around. Not because of that, no, but because after all the love he had had for that little girl, he had still blamed her for all of his mistakes. In her was the embodiment of his hatred for himself. He loved her all the same. Not because he had to, but because he couldn’t love himself. Maybe in reality that was the only prison he had ever truly been locked in to.
so what did you think? post any thoughts or feelings or whatever...