9 to 5

Lunch break. A pause in the 9-to-5-rhytm I live by every day; a hitch in the never-ending pulse that makes the hours pass. I don’t even care to look at the others as they slowly rise from their chairs. Wrinkled shirts, coffee stains on khaki pants and endless musings about the weather move towards the cafeteria like a clumsy herd of sheep.

-Quite the rain shower last night, oh yes.

-It’s sunnier than usually this time of year, isn’t it?

-The nights are so cold now; I fear the roses I planted last week will take damage.

Immensely stimulating, I am sure. And yet I cross my fingers every noon, hoping that this might be the day the floor between the cubicles will crack open like a colossal pair of jaws and let them all fall into the blackest depths of earth, let them all be swallowed by dirt and flames and silence. Especially Johnson two cubicles down the hall, with his wheezy breath and long stares.

As the last few members of the herd waggle their way towards the soggy sandwiches and mellow soup, I sigh and lean back. I don’t even think as my hands search through my purse, following habit more than conscious thought as they pull a bottle of clear liquid up and onto the desk. It’s rum today. Thursday felt like a good day for rum.

My throat briefly protests as the liquor burns its way down, but I clear my throat and ignore the strong urge to spit it all out. A few minutes and the fire will spread from the tip of my tongue and engulf everything, with waves of apathy eventually caressing my body, a lulling embrace of indifference tugging at my thoughts.

Work, lunch, work. Annoyance, apathy, annoyance. The 9-to-5-rhytm my heart beats to.

Ursa Major

The earthy smell of autumn was in the air, it was on the ground and on her face. The night hid the piles of leaves that colored the park by daytime, and all the darkness revealed was a misty glow around the streetlights. A slight shiver crept down her spine, licked goosebumps over her back, her neck. It was cold, but the vodka chased it away. It always did.

The taste burned down her throat and she held down a cough. Took another sip, wrinkled her nose and repeated the routine. She never liked the taste of alcohol, and tried to soothe her protesting senses with a cigarette. It was still there. The taste of cheap vodka, the taste of tears and the taste of vomit. Most of all, it was the taste of him.

It never left her. Week after week, and he still lingered on her lips.

-Fucking fuck, she muttered, unceremoniously waving goodbye to eloquence for the night.

Another few minutes of silence passed, and she sighed. Stopped. If she kept walking, she’d eventually meet up with her friends again. His friends. Maybe even him. Not now. Huffing to herself, she stepped onto the wet grass and laid down on her back. Not moving a muscle, but still feeling every element of the world move around her, going in circles around her head, making her dizzy as the trees blended into the streetlights.

Looking up, she noticed the stars. They were bright tonight, clear. She traced out the ones she’d learned the names of and cursed. Squinting she followed the patterns of Ursa Major – the Big Dipper – and mumbled as her finger swept over the dots she recognized. Alkair, Mizar, Alioth. Megrez, Phecda -

-Fucking stars and their constellations.

A lone cloud drifted across the light of the dipper, hid one star, revealed another. As she distantly watched the patch of darkness cross the sky, assisting the stars in their short game of hide and seek, she heard the rustle of leaves behind her in the grass. Worn out converse shoes slowly soaking in the dew, approaching without a word. One step. Another. The smell of fabric softener, beer and cheap cologne as a body shifted next to hers.

The silence engulfed the park. The leaves ceased to sway in the wind, the distant laughter faded out into nothingness. Even the constellations about her seemed to hold their breath, twinkling in silence, waiting.

-You stole the stars from me, every single one of them. For more than 20 years I merely let them exist out there – they followed their usual paths and habits, I followed mine. Now they all whisper your name, a silent hush stretching across the night sky.