Synopsis: An office worker tries to come to terms with his mundane life.
Author’s Note: This short story was based off a challenge to write a short story about a man who is bored - by showing and not telling, where I can’t use the words tired or bored, or any of their synonyms. Special thanks to Amina Abdel Halim for editing this piece.
Click clack. The sounds of fingers hitting keys. Tick tock. The noise of gears twisting and churning at the center of a nearby clock. Bla bla. The utterances of people speaking all around me. I only started working for this company half a week ago, yet, I see the paradoxes clearly. The silence was deafening. An oppressive cacophony of empty noises filled the large office, echoing and reverbing. You don’t notice it when you arrive, but after the first hour, the racket is enough to drive a man crazy. Then there was the office itself. The workplace was filled mostly with men in white or blue shirts. The walls were white. The ceilings were white. The floor was a light steel blue. So many light colors can be serene, but here, it merely exaggerated whatever colors did not conform to the desaturated hues. Finally, there was the smell. The smell of nothing. The office was cleaned daily, so that every inch of it was sterile of any imperfection, both in terms of dirt and smell. Every so often, the aroma of a donut, the odor of coffee, or the whiff of perfume filled the space around me. It woke me up from my passivity, only to come crashing down as soon as the air was clear.
I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I’ve been studying for years to live my life - to do something – and now I’m here. I turn to look at the framed photo on my desk. There I am. Sitting with her laying on a bench, her head on my lap. The park we’re in is just so vibrantly green it radiates out to me. Our bright smiles pierce through the photo and capture my attention. The glint in our eyes maintains it. God, I miss her. God, I miss those times. I remember how her Golden Retriever used to drag me all over to meet the other dogs. How we used to pick strawberries from the bushes, and flowers to put in her hair. I move my hand to my wrist, to the brown lace and white beads of the bracelet tucked beneath my shirt cuff, the one she gave me all those years ago.
“Hey, you!” The shrieking voice breaks my focus, and my head swivels swiftly to look at the source of the exclamation. A face hovers inches away from my own. The bold, black glasses are the first to catch my attention. Then the short, carefully trimmed hair, the clean-shaven face; the skinny, weak jawline, and the bright red power tie all slowly bring me to recognize him: one of the dozens of middle-managers roaming the office. I don’t know the man, he could be faceless, but they all look so alike that he’s still instantly recognizable.
“What the hell are you doing?” I stare despondently into his eyes, then shift to staring at his lips. I don’t need to know what he’s saying; I know why he’s here. I just mumble in agreement and look back to the bright blue fluorescence of the monitor. To excel. You know you’re not meant to be where you are when you stare at fucking excel all day.
Work stretches on for hours and hours. I get up and go to the kitchen for my own cup of coffee. I start circling the rim of my mug as I wait for the pot to boil. But there, a flash of green draws my eyes. I walk to the window, and see a park lit brightly, of amber and verdant leaves dancing in the sun. Tall, brown pine trees tower above children chasing each other, and dogs chase the children. I press my hands close against the glass as I lean forward, looking down. I let the vision consume me. Upon closer inspection, I see a girl of around 10, staring up at me. Her brown pigtails fly in the wind as she sits on the grass. She starts to smile, and wave. After a second, I realize she means me. The corners of my mouth pull back into a smile. She looks for a moment more before she turns away – must have been called back by her mom.
As she leaves, the reflection starts to catch my eye. The whiteness. The blues. I clench my fist and sigh before turning, grabbing my coffee, and heading to my desk. As I approach the cubicle, the man from before catches me again. With the same disdain, the same anger, simply using his power to bark orders at whoever he can. A minute passes by of him yelling. I can’t take it. I close my eyes. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, dumbass!”
I can’t take it.
My fist clenches around the handle of the mug. I open my eyes. I swiftly hand him the mug and push past him. “Get back here. I’m not done with you!”
I have my targets set. The door at the far end of the office. I’m fucking done.
My colleagues get up and start to look at me. “Hey, are you okay?”
They start to whisper amongst themselves as the manager’s screeching rises.
I push past them all. I push past it all. And I reach the handle.
I twist it.
And.
I’m free.