A man in a small town lays down in his bed at the end of the day and lets out a sigh of relief. He realizes as he stares at the clumps of dust clinging to the textured swirls in his ceiling that he has been letting out this sigh of relief for so many nights in a row that he can no longer recall how many times he has done it. Or, even why.
This morning, he woke up, got ready for work, wished his family to have a good day then got into his grey sedan and drove his 30 minute commute to work. There was traffic on the highway but not enough to prevent him from having enough time to collect a medium regular coffee from the drive through just three blocks from his place of employment.
He pulled the grey sedan in the sixth parking space in the lot to the left of the building. Parking in the sixth space, he found, kept him in the good graces of Alice in Accounts Payables who liked the fourth parking space because of the shade provided by a medium sized silver maple, the only tree on the parking lot, on an abundant sunshine day in the dog days of summer. He really wasn’t sure if Alice cared about parking under the medium silver maple on a cold, cloudy March day, but the man was unwilling to test his luck when there were so many important invoices that he would need paid.
He gingerly carried the regular coffee through a labyrinth of cubicles narrowly missing thevrusj of a human resource admin on her way to a copy machine. Once in side his own cubicle, he placed the regular coffee next to an endless pile of papers. The pile wasn’t very tall but he never seemed to make enough headway to get rid of it completely. He spent most of his day responding to emails from customers or working on mundane tasks his boss had assigned. Often, the man took mini breaks to check his Facebook.
At 4:30 pm, he climbed into his grey sedan and pulled out of the parking lot to drive the 30 minute commute back home again.
At home, the kids came and went to practices or study groups or hanging with friends, whatever it was that kids do these days. The man ate his dinner on the lumpy stained couch next to his wife while watching some reality TV show where the people in the show were required to eat bugs. The man felt lucky that he was eating processed frozen chicken sandwiches instead of beetles. On commercial, the man and his wife exchanged pleasantries about their days but there was no real time for discussion before the show came back back on.
Laying in his bed, staring now at the spot in the corner where the textured ceiling was pealing away due to a water leak, he realized that his day was neither bad nor good. It was just a regular day of a regular guy with a regular life. And, while he clearly needed to look into getting the water leak fixed before mold started to grow, he really wasn’t all that anxious about it. So, what, he pondered would make him breath a sigh of relief?
Miles and miles away, in another state, a petite brunette sits at a table in the corner of brightly colored room where the eyes of the subjects in the artwork displayed on the walls watch the radiation from the fireplace dance in the diamond earrings hanging from the petite brunette’s ears. The petite brunette sets about her final task of the evening. She is holding a non-descript doll that she made many months prior. She gently smooths the hair of the non-descript doll before placing it inside a small box wrapped in plain, brown packaging paper. And, with the doll secure in its plain little box, she places the lid on the box as she lets out a sigh of relief.
Truthfully, this shitty story isn’t even remotely done with the editing but I’m tired of writing it.