application
Title: Office Hours
Status: Applicant
Genre: Not really sure?
Word Count: 2,876
Jonathan checked his watched then went back to writing the letter he had begun over an hour ago. He was well into his fourth page and his hand was cramped and his head was beginning to pound, but he continued writing neatly and legibly. His office was spartan in its design; a central desk which he sat at, a nearby filing cabinet, two comfortable leather chairs, a small couch on one wall, and a small desk off to the side against the other wall with a coffee pot and organizational folders on it. His favorite part about his office was the view it afforded of the cityscape, vast and seemingly unending.
When night fell on New York, the city lit up like one giant firework continually orgasming. He spent long nights in his office and for five years he had enjoyed the immaculate lighting display of the city in the dark.
Jonathan took a break from writing the letter to his wife and looked out the window at the city. He knew most of New York was sleeping at this hour, but regardless of the time there was always somebody about. Suddenly he became aware of a prickling across the back of his neck as if some person nearby was staring back at him, but when he looked towards the door, the blinds covering the windows separating him from the rest of the office were closed tightly and nobody was there.
He glanced at the digital clock on his desk. Two in the morning, probably the latest he had ever stayed at the office. Most of the day was a blur now: meetings, clients, his wife crying hysterically to him over the phone, and then more clients. The time was spent mostly in a daze of activity; it was as if his body was put on autopilot while his mind took a short vacation. Nothing of the day made much sense to him, so he forced himself back to the task of the letter.
The words were becoming more condensed and scrawling as his mind began to work a bit faster. He took a moment to roll the sleeves of his white pressed collared shirt up; his dark blue tie had been long since removed and thrown unceremoniously on the floor beside his desk. His receding hairline and prominent jaw made him look handsome and scholarly; the office revered him as the “Guru” of the law business. In fact, Jonathan had been practicing law for over thirty years.
But now the last thing on his mind was law as he scribbled furiously on the page, the words flowing out completely wildly and without abandon. Jonathan attacked the letter with a vengeance and spilled every ounce of blood he had into those words, infused his very emotions with the ink. This was the final letter and he knew it, the last words he would ever say to his wife, the woman he had married in his second year of law school.
People told him that he was insane to marry so young, especially at the very beginning of his career. Jonathan didn’t listen and married the girl of his dreams, a brilliant woman the year below him with deep green eyes and near jet-black hair. He had always felt that to get ahead in life there is no reason to do what others felt was the right thing, only what he deemed correct. And so he did not base his principles on what he was told by friends, family or church, but rather what he knew was the right thing. And marrying this girl was one of the easiest decisions he had ever made.
Now however, as he wrote down the words he had dreaded saying for years, there seemed to be something missing when he thought about her. He looked back to the window and saw great black drops of water falling from the sky like pellets and he realized with a start that he didn’t remember it ever beginning to rain.
“Raindrops. Like on that day.” He whispered aloud to himself.
Five months ago the moon was out as he made his way home from work. Rain fell in heavy dark splashes and he drove a bit slower than normal, staring ahead at the road, watching as his headlights sliced through the rain and darkness. He made a right onto his street and followed the windy road almost a mile before turning into his driveway. All the lights were on in his house even though his wife had told him she would be out at her tennis lesson until after he got home at his normal time. Jonathan checked his watch and saw that he was a half an hour early, though that made almost no difference; his wife still wasn’t supposed to be home.
He got out of the car and locked it as he hurried into the garage, escaping the thick black raindrops with swift steps. Almost shaking with anticipation he turned the doorknob, quietly opening the door and stepping inside. Immediately he was violently assaulted with light and music. He could hear the music coming from the speakers set at a reasonable volume and yet it seemed to blare beyond comprehension. Jonathan couldn’t even make out what sort of music was playing it seemed so loud.
He clawed at his ears and dropped to his knees, squinting to see through the light that seemed to emanate from the overhead lighting. He had never experienced something like this before and just as suddenly as it began, the light and music suddenly dimmed to the appropriate level.
“Honey, is that you?” He heard his wife call from the kitchen. He stood still for a moment, suddenly aware that he was standing in the foyer, dripping wet. His wife was listening to Beethoven’s Fifth symphony and was apparently making dinner from the smell of meat wafting from the kitchen. He slowly walked into the kitchen and looked at his radiant wife smile at him warmly.
She stood in the center of the kitchen wearing an apron and stirring a pot on their modern electric range. In fact, modern was the perfect word to describe the entire house, modern down to the last light fixtures.
“You’re home early.” She said to him. “I’m just making you some dinner.”
“Why are you home?” Jonathan asked her quietly.
“My tennis lesson was canceled, so I was going to surprise you.” She said.
“Is that all this is? Your lesson was done early?” He asked her.
“Yes honey, that’s all. What’s the matter?” She replied as he took two steps closer to her, clenching and unclenching his fists. He looked up at the wall and realized that their normal clock was suddenly twice its usual size, the hands as long as hockey sticks and the face as big as a car. It hung on the wall and glared at him like an eye and he cringed away from it.
“You didn’t call me.” He said slowly.
“I know. I was going to surprise you.” She said sensing his anger.
Jonathan didn’t bother to answer, only walked out of the kitchen away from the clock, and went into his bedroom where he undressed and got into bed. For the next four months after that he would come home early and find things left around the house, keys, watches, nail clippers, which he didn’t know or couldn’t recognize.
It all confused him even more and yet somehow built upon the theory he formulated in his mind since the night he had come home early. Slowly he began to notice things more and more and began to come home less and less.
Looking out the window of his office he caught a glimpse of flashing red dots in the sky. He followed them for a brief moment before they disappeared into the clouds, lost in the rain. Turning back to his letter he suddenly was at a loss for words.
There was an eerie deep silence as he felt the darkness of the night begin to encroach on his office, stealing away into the corners and the shadows. He shivered and began to write again, forcing words to come out but really just repeating himself. The letter was laced with the same themes throughout; loss, betrayal, anger, hate.
Jonathan looked at the clock on his wall, ignoring the digital one of his desk. It said quarter to three and he was ready to end the letter and mail it the following morning. He still hadn’t figured out where he would sleep but there were always hotels open at this time of night in New York, so it shouldn’t be a problem.
Earlier that night, with the beginning of his letter, he had sworn that he would never return to that filthy house or to his wife as long as he lived. He couldn’t bear to see her or the house again for fear of losing his mind completely. The last conversation between Jonathan and his wife has happened earlier that day as he replayed the conversation in his mind.
“Jonathan, where are you?” His wife asked him.
“I’m at work.” He responded shortly.
“When are you coming home?” She asked, beginning to cry but trying to hide it from her voice. Jonathan remembered looking at the clock for a few moments before answering. “I don’t know if I am.” He said.
“Why don’t you come home?” She stammered, losing control.
“I just don’t have time. And you’re different.” Was all he could say to her.
“Different enough that you can leave for days on end without calling, without bothering to see if I’m alright, then suddenly show up without a word and lock yourself away in your little room in the basement? How am I the one who has changed Jonathan? I don’t even know you anymore; we never speak or eat together. When did this happen to us, when did this happen to you? It has been going on for too long now, I need some answers.” She sobbed to him.
“I have to go.” He said, then hung up the phone.
He finished the letter and signed it, folded it, and placed it in an envelope. Looking around one last time, he got up, grabbed his jacket, and turned out the light. The rest of the office was eerily dark as he made his was past desks and computers, some left on and humming mutely in the dark.
It was a typical setting, enough desks for the few clerks he needed, with other doors leading to his partners' offices and to a meeting room. He saw stretched shadows cast against the wall from the moon outside and he hurried his step into the stairway. He was up on the eighth floor so he walked quickly letting the echoes of his footsteps calm his pounding skull. The time passed monotonously, filled with echoed pounding and mute gray steps. His hand passed along the railing and made a high-pitched squeak; his palms had been sweating profusely and he hadn’t noticed.
Finally he reached ground level and walked out into the dark lobby of his building, ignoring the sleeping night watchman as he passed through. Fake plants and red emergency lights marked his path as he slowly walked across the lobby, glancing into the sharp corners for any signs of life.
Making it to the mailbox in the wall near the door, he opened it and dropped the letter in, letting the slot creak then slam shut. Sighing to himself he walked to the polished glass doorway and looked out, but before he opened the door he stopped short, transfixed by a white clock across the street. He normally didn’t notice this clock but now it was glowing and it’s seconds hand ticked oddly fast. For some reason it was much larger than he could remember.
Suddenly there was a loud snorting sound from behind him. He whirled around quickly and saw the night watchman, an elderly black man, slump forward in his seat as he snored a bit louder. Jonathan’s eyes were wide open and suddenly he could see everything in the lobby very clearly; the small couches, the mailboxes, the fake and real plants, the reception desk, the dancing shadows.
He pushed open the doors and left the building, and walked through the thick dark rain. Immediately he felt like he was soaked completely. He didn’t so much as glance at the clock across the street as he made his way toward his car, which was parked in a lot across the street on the next block.
Jonathan suddenly was sent back in time two months as he walked toward his car, remembering a long drive he had from a meeting that night. He was driving his wife’s car because his was in the shop for inspection. It was late and the road was straight and boring, so his mind began to wander.
To keep himself occupied, he looked through the odd trinkets sitting around the car. Hiding underneath a CD, he found a sapphire and diamond ring he had given his wife on their fifth anniversary so long ago. He was suddenly angered that she would take the ring off and nearly swerved off the road, managing to miss a telephone pole at the last moment.
When he got home, he went right inside and confronted his wife angrily, glaring at the clock in the corner, which seemed to tick like dropping bombs.
“Why did you leave this in the car?” Jonathan asked his wife, holding the ring out for her to inspect.
“I don’t know.” She replied looking surprised. “It must have come off.”
“Rings don’t just fall off your finger.” He replied.
“I’m sorry, it must have.” She said looking confused.
There was a long silence between them as he looked from the ring to her, trying to clear his head. Before he knew what he was doing, he dropped the ring at her feet and smiled calmly at her.
“If you’re really so ashamed of being married to me, then just say so.” He said.
“What do you mean?” She replied, shocked. “That wasn’t even our wedding ring. I never take off our wedding ring.”
“You just don’t get it do you?” He said shaking his head. Jonathan smiled again, suddenly feeling calm and free. He turned around and went down into the basement, shutting himself off from her for the rest of the evening.
He glanced around at every shadow and perceived movement when he saw something dark behind him out of the corner of his eye. The night was heavy now and although he tried to run, something was holding him back.
Jonathan realized that the black rain was suddenly a sludge that went up to his waist, holding him back, grabbing at his legs and trying to drag him under. He fought against the current with all his might, finally making it to the curb and beginning to cross into the street. He let the asphalt beneath him reassure him that everything was still as it was supposed to be, even as the sludge began to rise a bit higher, trying to reach his mouth and eyes. Desperation wasn’t the answer, he told himself.
In the middle of the street he looked to his right and stopped dead in his tracks to stare at the largest clock he had ever seen. The face was as big as the buildings and it ticked off the seconds with a deafening boom. It seemed like a giant as it tipped forward slightly to stare down at him defiantly, begging him to continue walking.
The face glowed brightly and he wanted to cover his eyes but something nagged at the back of his head that he needed to keep moving. The entire street was illuminated by this strange clock’s light, so bright that he couldn’t look directly into it. His eyes began to burn as he pressed forward against the current toward the opposite sidewalk.
His wife’s face became clear in his mind and he began to move again, just as the giant clock was replaced with screaming headlights. The car swerved and barely missed Jonathan, causing him to fall to his knees. The sludge and the clock were gone, his hatred and loathing were gone, following the car as it sped away blaring its horn.
Jonathan watched it go with pity, enjoying the light evening rain as it dusted his shoulders. He stood up and walked the rest of the way to his car, eyeing the moon slightly, realizing he wasn’t nearly as we as he had fist thought. He took the keys from his pocket and unlocked his red BMW and climbed in slowly, smiling to himself like he hadn’t smiled for days.
He put the key in the ignition and turned the car on as he looked at the clock that read four in the morning. There was something funny about the time as he laughed to himself, pulling out of his parking spot and slowly heading back home to his wife.
Status: Applicant
Genre: Not really sure?
Word Count: 2,876
Jonathan checked his watched then went back to writing the letter he had begun over an hour ago. He was well into his fourth page and his hand was cramped and his head was beginning to pound, but he continued writing neatly and legibly. His office was spartan in its design; a central desk which he sat at, a nearby filing cabinet, two comfortable leather chairs, a small couch on one wall, and a small desk off to the side against the other wall with a coffee pot and organizational folders on it. His favorite part about his office was the view it afforded of the cityscape, vast and seemingly unending.
When night fell on New York, the city lit up like one giant firework continually orgasming. He spent long nights in his office and for five years he had enjoyed the immaculate lighting display of the city in the dark.
Jonathan took a break from writing the letter to his wife and looked out the window at the city. He knew most of New York was sleeping at this hour, but regardless of the time there was always somebody about. Suddenly he became aware of a prickling across the back of his neck as if some person nearby was staring back at him, but when he looked towards the door, the blinds covering the windows separating him from the rest of the office were closed tightly and nobody was there.
He glanced at the digital clock on his desk. Two in the morning, probably the latest he had ever stayed at the office. Most of the day was a blur now: meetings, clients, his wife crying hysterically to him over the phone, and then more clients. The time was spent mostly in a daze of activity; it was as if his body was put on autopilot while his mind took a short vacation. Nothing of the day made much sense to him, so he forced himself back to the task of the letter.
The words were becoming more condensed and scrawling as his mind began to work a bit faster. He took a moment to roll the sleeves of his white pressed collared shirt up; his dark blue tie had been long since removed and thrown unceremoniously on the floor beside his desk. His receding hairline and prominent jaw made him look handsome and scholarly; the office revered him as the “Guru” of the law business. In fact, Jonathan had been practicing law for over thirty years.
But now the last thing on his mind was law as he scribbled furiously on the page, the words flowing out completely wildly and without abandon. Jonathan attacked the letter with a vengeance and spilled every ounce of blood he had into those words, infused his very emotions with the ink. This was the final letter and he knew it, the last words he would ever say to his wife, the woman he had married in his second year of law school.
People told him that he was insane to marry so young, especially at the very beginning of his career. Jonathan didn’t listen and married the girl of his dreams, a brilliant woman the year below him with deep green eyes and near jet-black hair. He had always felt that to get ahead in life there is no reason to do what others felt was the right thing, only what he deemed correct. And so he did not base his principles on what he was told by friends, family or church, but rather what he knew was the right thing. And marrying this girl was one of the easiest decisions he had ever made.
Now however, as he wrote down the words he had dreaded saying for years, there seemed to be something missing when he thought about her. He looked back to the window and saw great black drops of water falling from the sky like pellets and he realized with a start that he didn’t remember it ever beginning to rain.
“Raindrops. Like on that day.” He whispered aloud to himself.
Five months ago the moon was out as he made his way home from work. Rain fell in heavy dark splashes and he drove a bit slower than normal, staring ahead at the road, watching as his headlights sliced through the rain and darkness. He made a right onto his street and followed the windy road almost a mile before turning into his driveway. All the lights were on in his house even though his wife had told him she would be out at her tennis lesson until after he got home at his normal time. Jonathan checked his watch and saw that he was a half an hour early, though that made almost no difference; his wife still wasn’t supposed to be home.
He got out of the car and locked it as he hurried into the garage, escaping the thick black raindrops with swift steps. Almost shaking with anticipation he turned the doorknob, quietly opening the door and stepping inside. Immediately he was violently assaulted with light and music. He could hear the music coming from the speakers set at a reasonable volume and yet it seemed to blare beyond comprehension. Jonathan couldn’t even make out what sort of music was playing it seemed so loud.
He clawed at his ears and dropped to his knees, squinting to see through the light that seemed to emanate from the overhead lighting. He had never experienced something like this before and just as suddenly as it began, the light and music suddenly dimmed to the appropriate level.
“Honey, is that you?” He heard his wife call from the kitchen. He stood still for a moment, suddenly aware that he was standing in the foyer, dripping wet. His wife was listening to Beethoven’s Fifth symphony and was apparently making dinner from the smell of meat wafting from the kitchen. He slowly walked into the kitchen and looked at his radiant wife smile at him warmly.
She stood in the center of the kitchen wearing an apron and stirring a pot on their modern electric range. In fact, modern was the perfect word to describe the entire house, modern down to the last light fixtures.
“You’re home early.” She said to him. “I’m just making you some dinner.”
“Why are you home?” Jonathan asked her quietly.
“My tennis lesson was canceled, so I was going to surprise you.” She said.
“Is that all this is? Your lesson was done early?” He asked her.
“Yes honey, that’s all. What’s the matter?” She replied as he took two steps closer to her, clenching and unclenching his fists. He looked up at the wall and realized that their normal clock was suddenly twice its usual size, the hands as long as hockey sticks and the face as big as a car. It hung on the wall and glared at him like an eye and he cringed away from it.
“You didn’t call me.” He said slowly.
“I know. I was going to surprise you.” She said sensing his anger.
Jonathan didn’t bother to answer, only walked out of the kitchen away from the clock, and went into his bedroom where he undressed and got into bed. For the next four months after that he would come home early and find things left around the house, keys, watches, nail clippers, which he didn’t know or couldn’t recognize.
It all confused him even more and yet somehow built upon the theory he formulated in his mind since the night he had come home early. Slowly he began to notice things more and more and began to come home less and less.
Looking out the window of his office he caught a glimpse of flashing red dots in the sky. He followed them for a brief moment before they disappeared into the clouds, lost in the rain. Turning back to his letter he suddenly was at a loss for words.
There was an eerie deep silence as he felt the darkness of the night begin to encroach on his office, stealing away into the corners and the shadows. He shivered and began to write again, forcing words to come out but really just repeating himself. The letter was laced with the same themes throughout; loss, betrayal, anger, hate.
Jonathan looked at the clock on his wall, ignoring the digital one of his desk. It said quarter to three and he was ready to end the letter and mail it the following morning. He still hadn’t figured out where he would sleep but there were always hotels open at this time of night in New York, so it shouldn’t be a problem.
Earlier that night, with the beginning of his letter, he had sworn that he would never return to that filthy house or to his wife as long as he lived. He couldn’t bear to see her or the house again for fear of losing his mind completely. The last conversation between Jonathan and his wife has happened earlier that day as he replayed the conversation in his mind.
“Jonathan, where are you?” His wife asked him.
“I’m at work.” He responded shortly.
“When are you coming home?” She asked, beginning to cry but trying to hide it from her voice. Jonathan remembered looking at the clock for a few moments before answering. “I don’t know if I am.” He said.
“Why don’t you come home?” She stammered, losing control.
“I just don’t have time. And you’re different.” Was all he could say to her.
“Different enough that you can leave for days on end without calling, without bothering to see if I’m alright, then suddenly show up without a word and lock yourself away in your little room in the basement? How am I the one who has changed Jonathan? I don’t even know you anymore; we never speak or eat together. When did this happen to us, when did this happen to you? It has been going on for too long now, I need some answers.” She sobbed to him.
“I have to go.” He said, then hung up the phone.
He finished the letter and signed it, folded it, and placed it in an envelope. Looking around one last time, he got up, grabbed his jacket, and turned out the light. The rest of the office was eerily dark as he made his was past desks and computers, some left on and humming mutely in the dark.
It was a typical setting, enough desks for the few clerks he needed, with other doors leading to his partners' offices and to a meeting room. He saw stretched shadows cast against the wall from the moon outside and he hurried his step into the stairway. He was up on the eighth floor so he walked quickly letting the echoes of his footsteps calm his pounding skull. The time passed monotonously, filled with echoed pounding and mute gray steps. His hand passed along the railing and made a high-pitched squeak; his palms had been sweating profusely and he hadn’t noticed.
Finally he reached ground level and walked out into the dark lobby of his building, ignoring the sleeping night watchman as he passed through. Fake plants and red emergency lights marked his path as he slowly walked across the lobby, glancing into the sharp corners for any signs of life.
Making it to the mailbox in the wall near the door, he opened it and dropped the letter in, letting the slot creak then slam shut. Sighing to himself he walked to the polished glass doorway and looked out, but before he opened the door he stopped short, transfixed by a white clock across the street. He normally didn’t notice this clock but now it was glowing and it’s seconds hand ticked oddly fast. For some reason it was much larger than he could remember.
Suddenly there was a loud snorting sound from behind him. He whirled around quickly and saw the night watchman, an elderly black man, slump forward in his seat as he snored a bit louder. Jonathan’s eyes were wide open and suddenly he could see everything in the lobby very clearly; the small couches, the mailboxes, the fake and real plants, the reception desk, the dancing shadows.
He pushed open the doors and left the building, and walked through the thick dark rain. Immediately he felt like he was soaked completely. He didn’t so much as glance at the clock across the street as he made his way toward his car, which was parked in a lot across the street on the next block.
Jonathan suddenly was sent back in time two months as he walked toward his car, remembering a long drive he had from a meeting that night. He was driving his wife’s car because his was in the shop for inspection. It was late and the road was straight and boring, so his mind began to wander.
To keep himself occupied, he looked through the odd trinkets sitting around the car. Hiding underneath a CD, he found a sapphire and diamond ring he had given his wife on their fifth anniversary so long ago. He was suddenly angered that she would take the ring off and nearly swerved off the road, managing to miss a telephone pole at the last moment.
When he got home, he went right inside and confronted his wife angrily, glaring at the clock in the corner, which seemed to tick like dropping bombs.
“Why did you leave this in the car?” Jonathan asked his wife, holding the ring out for her to inspect.
“I don’t know.” She replied looking surprised. “It must have come off.”
“Rings don’t just fall off your finger.” He replied.
“I’m sorry, it must have.” She said looking confused.
There was a long silence between them as he looked from the ring to her, trying to clear his head. Before he knew what he was doing, he dropped the ring at her feet and smiled calmly at her.
“If you’re really so ashamed of being married to me, then just say so.” He said.
“What do you mean?” She replied, shocked. “That wasn’t even our wedding ring. I never take off our wedding ring.”
“You just don’t get it do you?” He said shaking his head. Jonathan smiled again, suddenly feeling calm and free. He turned around and went down into the basement, shutting himself off from her for the rest of the evening.
He glanced around at every shadow and perceived movement when he saw something dark behind him out of the corner of his eye. The night was heavy now and although he tried to run, something was holding him back.
Jonathan realized that the black rain was suddenly a sludge that went up to his waist, holding him back, grabbing at his legs and trying to drag him under. He fought against the current with all his might, finally making it to the curb and beginning to cross into the street. He let the asphalt beneath him reassure him that everything was still as it was supposed to be, even as the sludge began to rise a bit higher, trying to reach his mouth and eyes. Desperation wasn’t the answer, he told himself.
In the middle of the street he looked to his right and stopped dead in his tracks to stare at the largest clock he had ever seen. The face was as big as the buildings and it ticked off the seconds with a deafening boom. It seemed like a giant as it tipped forward slightly to stare down at him defiantly, begging him to continue walking.
The face glowed brightly and he wanted to cover his eyes but something nagged at the back of his head that he needed to keep moving. The entire street was illuminated by this strange clock’s light, so bright that he couldn’t look directly into it. His eyes began to burn as he pressed forward against the current toward the opposite sidewalk.
His wife’s face became clear in his mind and he began to move again, just as the giant clock was replaced with screaming headlights. The car swerved and barely missed Jonathan, causing him to fall to his knees. The sludge and the clock were gone, his hatred and loathing were gone, following the car as it sped away blaring its horn.
Jonathan watched it go with pity, enjoying the light evening rain as it dusted his shoulders. He stood up and walked the rest of the way to his car, eyeing the moon slightly, realizing he wasn’t nearly as we as he had fist thought. He took the keys from his pocket and unlocked his red BMW and climbed in slowly, smiling to himself like he hadn’t smiled for days.
He put the key in the ignition and turned the car on as he looked at the clock that read four in the morning. There was something funny about the time as he laughed to himself, pulling out of his parking spot and slowly heading back home to his wife.