#1
heres a short story i wrote in highschool that i like

Blur

Blur. The fake wooden print serving as the laminate on the man’s desk comes into focus as he lifts his head. 9:15. This may possibly be the worst day yet. Left, then right, the man shifts his head as he looks at the cubicle around him. Have these walls been moved closer together? He looks down at the photo of nobody on his desk and sighs. Still alone. The aroma of coffee does nothing but remind him of where he is. He looks down at his own cup and mouths the words: Why do I drink this shit?

People continually pass by, their footsteps constantly ringing through the man’s head like cries from his collapsing soul. A stack of papers on his desk grows larger and smaller as the days elapse. Today is yesterday just as tomorrow is today. It becomes hard to distinguish the days when each brings the same.

Frustration, a highly common emotion for the man, begins to set in as he listens to the click clack of keyboards around him. The hum of the computers, the inane chatter of his co-workers and the never-ending ringing phones are finally too much. The man abruptly stands up and lets his ergonomic chair fall to the ground. Co-workers heads quickly pop up from their own boxed in workstations like prairie dogs emerging from a hole.

“Sit down!” the man screams and is slightly shocked by the emotion showing in his voice. Something had emerged in him that was previously missing.

He trails his hand along the wall as he follows the aisle down to his boss’s office, laughing gleefully on the way. Co-workers glance curiously at him trying carefully not to elicit another outburst.

As he throws open the heavy oak door of the man in charge the nameplate drops to the floor with a barely audible crash. “What’s the meaning of this?” yells out a heavyset balding man with a patchy looking mustache.

“Your time to talk is over” says the frustrated man in a strangely calm tone. He steps over to his fat boss and grabs him by the shoulders. “I’m afraid I have to do this,” he states as he heaves the heavy man with tremendous force towards the window.
Shards of glass and flecks of blood line the carpeted floor as the man looks down and sighs. “I’m going to have to clean this up before I start my new job” he says to no one in particular.

The man comes to with a groan. He raises his head and looks down at the laminate on his small desk. 9:17. This may possibly be the worst day yet.
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