Status: Finished :)
Cubicles
The office on the third floor.
"Marcy?! Oh God, where's Marcy? Please, give me a shot. Please."
A man awakes into a dimly lit office, his back hunched over his desk from where he was previously sleeping. The desk is messy, not a single space can be seen but the one he was occupying. Files upon files are stacked, some looking ready to tumble off of the desk. A lone lamp stands in the corner of the room behind the desk.
It looms over the files and casts disfigured shadows on the walls and ceiling. The only other furniture in the room are two worn looking wooden chairs with green cushions facing the man from the opposite side of the desk, and an identical but newer wooden chair that the man is sitting on. His eyes stay open for a few seconds before they drift shut.
"Oh God, please no..."
The mans eyes snap wide open, and he shifts them around the room. Everything around him is still, and he can hear the sounds of traffic from the third floor office he just recently moved in to. It was larger than he had expected it to be, but to him this was a bad thing. There is way too much space for just himself. The office is also inconveniently the farthest away from the elevator and the restrooms, the break room and the emergency stairwell.
He would have to weave his way through smiling, chipper people who wanted to congratulate him on his new promotion and the others who didn't believe he deserved it just to take a piss. Maybe grab a cup of coffee or a donut while he was at it, but he never did. And after the few precious moments of privacy in the swamp smelling men's restroom, he would carefully weave himself back through. Reaching his office would feel like he had just gone on an extremely long trip in which bloodthirsty cannibals had tried to rip his heart out and cook it over a fire.
The supply of wood would be coming from his atrocious looking office chairs, and the lamp in the corner would work as a decent spit. But he's not a cunning professor by day and adventurer by night. He has no whip to defeat the bad guys or a pretty girl to save. He's Andy, the supervisor from the credit company who runs those bad commercials on t.v. And he supposed he's okay with that, because he doesn't like those movies anyway.
A man awakes into a dimly lit office, his back hunched over his desk from where he was previously sleeping. The desk is messy, not a single space can be seen but the one he was occupying. Files upon files are stacked, some looking ready to tumble off of the desk. A lone lamp stands in the corner of the room behind the desk.
It looms over the files and casts disfigured shadows on the walls and ceiling. The only other furniture in the room are two worn looking wooden chairs with green cushions facing the man from the opposite side of the desk, and an identical but newer wooden chair that the man is sitting on. His eyes stay open for a few seconds before they drift shut.
"Oh God, please no..."
The mans eyes snap wide open, and he shifts them around the room. Everything around him is still, and he can hear the sounds of traffic from the third floor office he just recently moved in to. It was larger than he had expected it to be, but to him this was a bad thing. There is way too much space for just himself. The office is also inconveniently the farthest away from the elevator and the restrooms, the break room and the emergency stairwell.
He would have to weave his way through smiling, chipper people who wanted to congratulate him on his new promotion and the others who didn't believe he deserved it just to take a piss. Maybe grab a cup of coffee or a donut while he was at it, but he never did. And after the few precious moments of privacy in the swamp smelling men's restroom, he would carefully weave himself back through. Reaching his office would feel like he had just gone on an extremely long trip in which bloodthirsty cannibals had tried to rip his heart out and cook it over a fire.
The supply of wood would be coming from his atrocious looking office chairs, and the lamp in the corner would work as a decent spit. But he's not a cunning professor by day and adventurer by night. He has no whip to defeat the bad guys or a pretty girl to save. He's Andy, the supervisor from the credit company who runs those bad commercials on t.v. And he supposed he's okay with that, because he doesn't like those movies anyway.
♠ ♠ ♠
Just a short little thing I wrote. Thanks to whoever decides to read this, and I would appreciate it if you could comment about it. Good or bad. Thanks again.