The clock on his desk read 9:55a.m. The work day was young and the hours were many. What was it about the work day that made the hours go by so slow? The slowness, was, of course, and illusion. 9:57a.m. stared back. He craned his head and saw everyone else in their cubicles, hunched over, typing, reading emails, talking on the phone, or otherwise pretending to work. He grabbed his chipped red coffee mug and went to the break room. No on noticed him on his walk. He was thankful for that. He walked into the break room and was greeted by beige malaise. The break room table was was a little dirty and had rings of dried coffee on it. The microwave looked like a holdover from the final years of the Cold War. The coffee maker sat next to it. The pot was empty, or course. He found a paper filter and scooped the needed grounds into it. He rinsed off the pitcher next to the sink and used it to fill up the machine. When it was all set, he turned it on and heard the familiar sound of brewing alertness.
Coffee began to percolate and drip. The smell was always pleasing. When the last drop fell he grabbed the pot by the handle and filled the chipped red mug. He took a small packet of artificial sweetener from his pocket, tore it open, and poured it in. He walked to the fridge and hoped his cartoon of creamer was still there. The fridge was full of lunches. Some in plastic shopping bags, a few in the traditional brown paper bags, and a few in very nice lunch boxes. He grabbed the carton of creamer and saw that it would expire tomorrow. From the weight of it, there was just enough left for this cup. He opened the pointed mouth of the carton and poured it in. He stirred his drink with his right index finger, no sense getting a spoon dirty.
No one paid any attention to him on the way back to his desk either. Good. Good. He opened an email from the regional director. Production needed to be increased for the impending war time effort. Great. Where would this one be? As soon as the thought passed through his head he realized he didn't care. He hadn't cared in a long time. It was nothing but news stories in places he would never know. He knew people would die directly because of his government, and indirectly because of his work. It wasn't here. It would never be here. They were safe.
"Knock, knock." said Janet from H.R. "Mr. Banks wants to know if you're free after lunch for your quarterly review?' Before he had a chance to answer they heard it. The sound of an explosion tearing through a building. The shudder and shake of an unnatural earthquake. Wordless screaming was everywhere. The next explosion exposed a a blue sky being infected by smoke and debris. He could feel himself falling, the red cup still in his hand.
11/17/22
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