Short story category
"Alone, Surrounded by a Thousand Faces."
Another day sitting in my cubicle doing my job for the office. On both sides of my cubicle there are... another cubicles. My life is a one big cubicle with cubicles inside it. And boxes. Around, inside, beside the cubicles there are countless boxes. I’m currently looking at one, it’s called a monitor. I’m pressing little boxes on a box to operate other boxes. I saw a hair on my blue suit, so I flicked it. It’s funny that literally everyone else around wears grey clothes. Sometimes I incline my head to glance at my co-workers. I never lock eyes with anyone. They are doing their work, that’s all that matters. That’s all that they’re valued for. That’s all that I’m valued for. Nobody gives a single frappé about me, a human.
I’m secretly suspecting that my co-workers are really androids programmed to execute their tasks. What they do, what they say is too schematic. I hate talking to these people. I’m used to attend these small talks on lunch and coffee breaks, but simply because I don’t want to become excluded. Well, at least that was the case until that day. There are only three topics during such conversations: work, dishing on misfits and city news. I’m silently looking down when the first two are flowing, but I’m always joining when the third is on.
In that time there was much going on in the city. The numbness of society created a space for the ultimate sort of crime, the murder. Serial killer was stalking the city during evenings and nights. The randomness of victims and places as well as rapidity of his strikes rendered Police helpless. The only pattern he uses is horribly mutilating faces of his victims, preferably when they’re still alive. It was my turn to provide perceptions on that topic and that weight on my lungs started yielding with every muttered word. These are my chances to create a makeshift of relationship, something that used to keep me away from the final step. I feel guilty when thinking that delinquency in the city was the only thing that was keeping me alive. It’s not only the opportunity to finally open my mouth and fulfil the minimum of social needs, there’s something more. How is that thoughts about extremely painful death were making me want to live? I don’t have any control on my life and at least I demand the slightest control on how I’m going to die. And there’s the adrenaline, I definitely don’t want to get slaughtered with a knife. Yet the opposite things make me want to kill myself. The calm artificiality, apathy, detachment from other people. Slow poison being injected with a psychopathic frequency into my veins. The end of coffee break awoke me from these thoughts. After another two hours of paperwork I packed up my traps, went out of the building and directed my steps towards a tram stop. It was already dark at this hour.
I wanted to stop thinking, but I couldn’t. It’s impossible to stop thinking when you’re engaged in an extremely monotonous activity. Coming back to my bachelor flat is definitely one of those. The tug of thoughts stood in contrast to my stiff body. Maybe that was my destiny to become completely alone on this world? Suicide of my father, followed by fiancée’s death, followed by selling the house, followed by moving to an agglomeration and getting this job in a corporation, followed by... a suicide. All links of this chain were determined. There was never any way of stopping this series of events. Yes, all I could do is passively watching and waiting for events to occur like I was watching and waiting for tram’s arrival.
The rail-box drawn in punctually. Its completely grey surface surprisingly improved my mood. The final destination was waiting for me at the destination point after all. My personal cubicle will be a perfect place to take my own life, I thought, I can’t wait. I got in and with gritted teeth sit on the same spot as always, right beside one of the doors. I looked around and saw the same gloomy faces. I thought about some variation. This last day I wanted to break some routine, so on next stop I went to seek another seat at the back of the tram. I found it and got back to pleasantly painful and justifying thoughts. Absent minded I didn’t realize how I’m staring at a beautiful woman sitting in front of me. There was something special about her, that even the chaos in my mind soothed. And not by a long shot was it caused by her yellow coat, a feature distinctive from the surroundings. We made eye contact and surprisingly she didn’t want to break it. I could see the sadness and pain on her face. I felt empathy for her and… I felt empathy from her. I casted my eyes down after remembering what’s going to happen in less than one hour. Everything that could convert my decision was a threat. Never more punching the walls in hopelessness, never more drinking until I vomit, never more sleepless nights, never more… hesitating. Today is the end. Today or never, I thought.
Even when staring at the ashy floor for quite a while I couldn’t banish the memory of her face out of my mind. I felt numb, ashamed that this woman saw me in such a pathetic state. A shell, a wreck of a man I used to be. But I didn’t fight off the urge of glancing at her again. When our sight met again I saw a shade of a smile. Surprised, I returned it. Then I lost the vision of her because a group people stood between us, ready to get off on the next stop. I found myself waiting forward until they go out of the tram. They finally did and a smaller number of people went in. I knew that tram had now five minutes of halt at the darkest tram stop in the world.
People occupied empty places away from me and the woman. Strangely the last person that got in remained standing, right between me and the woman in yellow coat, but much closer to her. It was a tall man in a red hoodie. I couldn’t see his face from under that vast hood. He said something calmly to the woman, but I couldn’t hear exactly what. Then things started happening extremely fast. He drew an eight-inch knife out of his pocket and slashed with all force at woman’s face. She managed to raise her arms before receiving the blow but the stream of blood poured around. When her hands were still in the air, the attacker begun thrusting at her torso. Ignoring the explosion of shouts I immediately jumped from my place and dived in for a takedown. Unfortunately I shot the stabber too high and wound up tackling by his waist. He outweighed me so I couldn’t get him down on the ground. He twisted and stabbed me repeatedly in the skull. A huge pain exploded in my head, blurred my sight. Other senses heightened and my heart was pumping furiously. The woman slammed him with her purse and I made use of this confusion and the adrenaline rush. I managed to bend lower. Grabbing the back of his knees was crucial during this takedown. Soon we were both on the ground, me on top, right hand blocked under the murderer. To my terror he still had the blade in his right hand, both arms free. He attacked again, weapon steered bottom, left hand throttling me. I tried to grab his right hand, but I missed and he sliced me good between fingers. I tried for the second time and failed, so I received a huge gash on a tricep. My third grab was a charm. I caught his wrist and slammed his arm into the ground. Position was in my favour, the impact made him drop the knife. Then I barely saw these small boots kicking my attacker’s head. Few seconds later, right before the strangulation was successful, I’ve heard him growling. The grip on my throat released, but the murderer started punching me forcefully in the face.
Next thing I remember was somebody tapping me on the shoulder. I opened my eyes. I was lying on the floor, grab handles hanging over me. There was no pain now, just this warm feeling from the blood gashing out of me. It was like standing in the shower with warm water spraying the top of your head and flowing down the back of your neck. I’ve heard: “He’s alive!” and soon after a few hands started staunching my bleeding with something, presumably napkins. After a while I started feeling truly horrible pain. Wincing I looked left. I saw her lying near me, her yellow coat completely covered in blood, someone was crouching over her. Our joined blood created a crimson paddle on the floor.
“Is this how it’s all going to end? Finding the tiniest purpose was too much of your generosity? You wanted me to suffer until the end and you’ve got what you wanted. Just before I die, please… I beg you, please! Let her live and change her life for better. At least do something for one person on your hideous world…” At this point I was stabbed all the times a person can be stabbed while remaining conscious. I closed my eyes. That’s how this story ends.
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Another day lying in my cubicle, trying to lick my wounds. On both sides of my cubicle there are... another cubicles. My life is a one big cubicle with cubicles inside it. And boxes. Around, inside, beside the cubicles there are countless boxes. I’m currently looking at one, it’s called a monitor. A nurse is pressing little boxes on a box to operate other boxes and check my vital functions. I saw a hair on my blue pyjamas, so I flicked it. It’s funny that literally everyone else around wears grey clothes. Sometimes I incline my head to glance at other patients. I never lock eyes with anyone. She is not lying in the same chamber. Our state doesn’t let us meet for a long time yet, but I phone her whenever I’m allowed to. And I can’t pressure how pleasant it feels when she calls me back. It turned out that we have many things in common. Interests, personality and… even some appearance similarities. She will have a big scar on her beautiful face. The symbol of her bravery. It’s one of the things, that I value her for. It’s one of the things that she values me for. When I remind her, lying in her yellow pyjamas, with that heartfelt smile on her face, I feel that together we can change our lives for better. And I don’t give a single frappé about anything else.
@kalisenpai I fixed many mistakes, so I think, that it looks much better now :-)
