Death And Then

The sunrise was a small wisp of peach and violet and lavender and blush-toned white. It ran in a pencil thin line across the sky. Just above the harbor. Gulls scattered and regrouped around the still boats in an air mixed with salt and city.

His clean black shoes clicked on the pavement and his briefcase swung.

He stood at the corner of two like-numbered streets and waited patiently for the bus. His thoughts were truly about nothing. Like an unknown meditation. He was simply standing. Simply waiting. Ready for another day of work. Ready for paper shuffling and phones ringing and coffee and sandwiches. Ready to sit in his cubicle watching blue sky mix with white clouds.

He rocked and swayed with the movements of the bus. Rocked and swayed with the movements of the subway. Took his slow clicking, clean black shoes across the sidewalk and into the towering office.

He touched the button for his floor. Waited for the elevator to pitch upwards. Particular slowness. Doors opening on nearly every floor for someone going up, up, up.

He spilled out onto the office floor with two or three others in identical dress.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

He turned left right left and sat down on the swiveling chair in his tiny gray walled cubicle. Set his briefcase down swiftly. Clicked the locks open. Threw a few pages from here to there. He turned his computer on. It hummed politely. And while he waited for the screen to fade from black to color, he interlaced his fingers over his head and stretched his arms far above. His muscles pulled and forced a silent yawn from his gaping mouth. His eyes watered. He straightened his tie. His computer screen came on.

But instead of logging in he rolled his chair a few inches to the side and peered around the edge. And with a craning neck he could just catch a sliver of the windows that ringed the office floor. They were large and clean. Lining the room. Good views rare at best. God views. Watching the day go by. Clocks unimportant underneath sun and clouds.

He watched the sun rising and the clouds drifting even farther apart. He watched until the billowy white was far scattered and blue shone. And he watched a plane off in the distance. Looking like a plastic model on a popsicle stick, drifting by under the guidance of a child's hands.

The plane came closer.

And the blue continued to shine.

And then the nose faced the building.

And it came closer.

And closer.

And then it came through the window.

And then a metal front peeled through the glass windows, through him, and into the next cubicle.

~

words: J.A. Tyler, Colorado (aboutjaytyler)
photo: Elle Driscoll, Australia (captured)