You awoke in a cold sweat from your dream, looking around the dim room with a fright. You didn’t remember anything that happened in it except for a loud BANG! at the end, but you passed it off as just a nightmare. It had been a recurring nightmare you’ve had for the past few days now. You slowly arose from your bed, preparing your lunch for the day before heading off to work, stopping at a local store to pick up a little something along the way.
As you drove, you reflected on your life before now. How your life-partner had recently passed away from an unknown cancer at such a young age. How your children had recently graduated from college and now were living on their own with a decent paying job and a date as well. You felt happy and proud of them, but you couldn’t help but feel a certain feeling inside. It was like a sickness. It was a feeling of despairing emptiness.
You went to your small cubicle and started to get to work at your small desk. Your job was a fairly decent one that paid well in this day and age considering the economy, but it was monotonous. It felt after a while all you were doing was pressing the same keys over and over and moving your mouse around to give commands to a rather outdated personal computer. Click, click. You had been repeating these same tasks for the past few years with no raise or any comfort at home to make things better, realizing that you were all alone now.
After a few hours of this miserable process came lunch time, and you knew what that meant. You quickly got up, bringing your lunch box along with you as you moved to where everybody else was eating.
Stanley, a co-worker and a close friend here, waited for you at the water dispenser. He was wearing his usual work attire: a white shirt over black dress pants and a small red tie. He greeted you happily as you walked over to him, adjusting his brown glasses. You liked Stanley; he was a pleasure to chat with, at least at first. But the dullness settled in quickly as well.
The two of you always ended up talking on the same subjects and discussions during every lunch hour. You were afraid to admit it to him, that he was becoming boring. That everything was, in fact. He did speculate that you were becoming increasingly more empty and bitter, but you always assured him that you were fine and he stopped pursuing his questions.
After a few minutes of this worthless congregation, you set off to eat your lunch for today. It was always the same thing every day: a ham sandwich with a banana. Sometimes you brought a soda; other times it was a mere water bottle. A few years ago, back when your loved one was still roaming the Earth, she would sometimes throw in something else. Even if it was just as something as plain and simple as a pickle, you always were in delight over it. It was a break from the same food every day.
Nowadays, you didn’t have enough time to throw in a little something extra. But you were certain that you had quite a surprise for the day. You consumed your sandwich very quickly without hesitation with your fruit to follow. Nobody seemed to notice how fast you were eating your food. It was almost too easy, you thought. This is when you usually returned to your cubicle to get back to work, but today you had that little extra.
From your bag, you withdrew a small handgun you had just picked up from your last paycheck earlier that morning.
Nobody noticed it for a few seconds before a woman started to scream and point at the sight of the revolver. Some of them begged you to stop, reaching out to you. They were trying to talk you into not doing it. You barked at them, making empty threats that you would shoot anybody that gets within touching distance. You felt bad about it; you were really a nice and caring person. One of them quickly phoned the police, saying that they were going to get you help. You didn’t care.
The dullness, the melancholy, the emptiness; it all had to end.
You looked at the crowd, Stanley standing at the front. He pleaded to you, begging you to consider your thoughts and actions. He offered to help you if you were to listen to him. Without saying a word to him, you open your mouth and placed the pistol inside of it. You heard the masses scream before your vision faded to black as you pulled the trigger.
You awoke in a cold sweat from your dream, looking around the dim room with a fright. You didn’t remember anything that happened in it except for a loud BANG! at the end, but you passed it off as just a nightmare. It had been a recurring nightmare you’ve had for the past few days now. You slowly arose from your bed, preparing your lunch for the day before heading off to work, stopping at a local store to pick up a little something along the way…
Written by FlakyPorcupine
Sequel: A New Day