Untitled Office story

She walked out one day. Just stood up, grabbed her coat and bag, and made for the door. She didn't say anything, gave no explanation. It had been an overly normal day. No drama, no clashing of ideas or personalities. All ran smoothly, no bumps, no hiccups. She met no eyes, said no goodbyes. It was as if she had never been there at all. She disentangled herself quite deftly and, with no strings trailing, walked away from something that the others did not understand.

No one had an inkling. Every morning, she awoke from a dream. A dark dream that, more often than not, was set in the exact environment at which she spent 9 hours a day. In her dreams, she often didn't speak, she often had bloody hands, she often felt an odd satisfaction. At what, she was unsure. It was a mystery to her that followed her through her day. She was always here. In her waking hours and in her sleeping hours, always here. It was very disconcerting.

The dreams began to change slightly as time progressed. They became calmer of emotion but not of impact, not at all. Soon others in the office appeared in bloody clothes. They walked with heads down, slowly and with no expressions on their faces. Their were slick pools of liquid on the floors. There were trash bags in the employee lounge. Insects everywhere, buzzing and causing her irritation. She often awoke in a state of dread and wonder.

She felt that her days began to mimic her nights. The buzz and slightly strobe effect of the fluorescent lighting recessed in the ceiling, the low electronic pulsing of the phones, the smell of disinfectant first thing in the morning (and again in the evening if she found herself working late). All these things combined to give her the disoriented feeling that she could be either at home, in bed, or actually there, at work. She never wore red. When someone in her office did, it distracted her throughout the day. Blood. She thought about the blood.

Road to Nowhere - unfinished

I broke down. The car finally giving up the ghost along a lone, dusty, rutted, sad excuse for a road. I knew where I was headed. And I knew I was nowhere near there yet. I had water but the lack of GPS had me worrying about running out before getting somewhere, anywhere. I could kick myself for not at least checking from time to time to see where I was on my solitary journey. I didn't even consider waiting with the vehicle until someone happened along. I knew no one would. Not even some beat up pickup truck with braced 2x4s for a raised bed. Man, I was screwed. The land was not what you'd call flat and not exactly what you would call hilly. It undulated lightly toward the horizon. Undulated. Sexy word for an unsexy landscape. Nothing but low mesa burry cactus, lying in wait for a passer by to accidentally get too close. It was hell trying to get those damned hooked spines out of your ankle. Mesquite bushes and the occasional non-descript tumbleweed from who-knows-where dotted the terrain. It didn't make it any more interesting than it would have without.