Friday the 13th

The cubicle stared back at him, as always. Computer screen flickering lines of uninteresting text. Framed picture of wife (left) and child (forgotten). Day planner, each day’s page ripped out at 5p.m. every day to reveal only that he had nothing planned for the next. Notepad containing mostly the doodles he made during meetings. Miniature cactus that just wants to die in peace... or in pieces. Whichever way. The cactus had also had enough.

Martin Jones peered in around the corner: “Hey Dave, how’re you doing today? Chirpy as ever?”
“Yes Martin - you know me. Sunshine and Omo. Now fuck off.”
“Yeah fuck you too, Dave. Have a nice day now, asshole.”

David didn’t answer him, deciding it would be wasted energy. He moved the mouse and opened Solitaire, a game he hated intensely. In fact, he hated the whole damn computer. He hated the computer, the desk it sat on, the cubicle, and the building that enclosed it, suffocating him daily. As David moved the three of Spades onto a stack, he wished he would never have to come back to this shithole again, and noticed the day planner vibrating slightly from the corner of his eye. A faint humming came from it, the top page rustled, lifted, pulling at the metal rods holding it in place. The page tore itself free, darting over his head sticking to the wall behind him. The next page started rustling, tugging at its bonds, tearing loose and flying over him. He jumped up and stumbled backwards to the cubicle wall. The pages tore and flew furiously, faster and faster. The air was thick with a grey noise, blurred movements surrounded the cubicle, and the whole building throbbed. With numb legs, David slid down the cubicle wall, stupefied and scared senseless. Then there was silence.

A single page floated down, landing in his lap. “Friday, June 13th” it said, to anyone who cared to read it. David didn’t care to read it, because his wish had come true.

David Morse, Claims Analyst, age 34, was finally dead.

i'm late, i know. sorry.