One Last Meeting (Day 8)

The days were beginning to blend together. Every morning the alarm went off giving Martin exactly nineteen minutes to shower, shove a stale pop tart in his mouth and hustle to work. Even after his second cup of coffee, the thick fuzzy feeling, as if his head was stuck in a fish bowl never really left him.

People flashed, appearing and disappearing in those spaces between moments. His phone would ring for a long time but his voice-mail never seemed to answer it. The sun took tremendous leaps across the sky when he wasn’t looking.

By the time Martin had realized that night had fallen, everyone else had gone home. He leaned back in his chair and stretched, thankful that he was still able to finish his dailies despite being so damned tired.

Martin swallowed a curse as the long halogen light panels above him flickered before burning completely out, leaving him in darkness. Step by faltering step, Martin felt his way, his fingertips following the rough cubicle walls until there were no more walls to guide him.

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