Ishmael returned to work from lunch with an odd sort of sadness nesting inside him. Something about meeting with his sister made him wish he had never gained the ability of thought. Life had been so incredibly simple when he could see terribly sad things and then just forget about them. Now he found himself lying in a pool of depressing emotions and it was as if he was only able to keep his head above the water. He wished to run away from it all. Leave it behind and go somewhere else just like Maria had, but he was loyal to his job for some strange reason. He felt a sense of obligation to the people who believed that they knew him, even though they didn't, not really. They knew the version of him that had lifelessly flown along for the last 29 years. They only liked Ishmael because he was someone they could use. They could treat him poorly and he wouldn't even notice or do anything about it. His face grew hot when he thought about that, but he didn't know why.
He made his way to his bland cubicle on the ugly work floor, sat down in front of the computer, and just stared at it. He couldn't figure out how anyone could be bothered to do this work which he found so maddeningly boring. Eventually, other employees began to take notice of his odd behavior. They wondered if something terrible had happened to him. Some speculated that he was just tired from a night of partying, others said he was having a stroke, but no one cared to check if that one was true. They would rather leave that paperwork for some late-night janitor to file.
Eventually, after a few hours of him staring at the blank screen and his coworkers spreading rumors, a woman in a pinstripe pantsuit made her way to Ishmael's cubicle.
"sir…Sir…SIR!" Her yell was enough to knock Ishmael out of his trance-like state. Ishmael looked up at the woman towering over his cubicle, she must have been 7 feet tall at least. Ishmael's attention was all the consent she needed to continue talking.
"Mr. Swister would like to speak with you." Ishmael would've felt terrified if he could remember how to feel at all. He was in a confusing state of over exhaustion and boredom. He felt like frolicking through daisies and also like crying at the same time. This emotional turmoil had torn apart his mind in a way that caused him to lose any emotions whatsoever. In this state of existential uncaring, he just seemed to silently follow the tall woman's commands. What else could he do, he was trapped. He had somehow found himself stuck riding on a giant rock in outer space and he wanted off. Ishmael had wandered aimlessly towards the door that would put him inside of the office of the one and only, Nicholas Swister. When he stepped into the office, he was shocked to see the state that Mr. Swister was in. He had suspected that Swister would have been stressed with the giant protest at his door, but the man seemed to be just peachy.
"Ah, well if it isn't just the guy I wanted to see. How the hell are you doing man?" He spoke in a positive tone that never seemed to dip, constantly remaining on the same plain of joyfulness. Ishmael didn't really care for this, as he was distracted by the beautiful stained-glass window that replaced what would've been an average run of the mill working man's window. You would've been able to see the whole city if it weren't for the image of Swister depicted in the glass.
"Wel-"
"Great to hear man." It was clear to Ishmael that the man standing in front of him didn't really care about what he had to say, so whatever he was going to tell him was unlikely to be good news. This filled the air with the sweetest dread anyone had ever tasted. "So, it's come to my attention that you haven't been really working today. Can you explain to me why that is?" Something about the way Swister moved put Ishmael on edge. It was as if at any moment the man in front of him could just snap and plunge his hand into his heart.
"Well, I've just been thinking about how futile everything is. I mean in a million years the suns gonna explode and then what will we have? No matter what we do, nothing will ever matter" Ishmael could feel his heartbeat faster with every existential thought that crossed his mind. Was this really what he thought? He didn't want it to all be for nothing, but he was beginning to suspect that it was. Ishmael tried to breathe, but it felt like the air was growing thin. This growing sense wasn't helped by the sudden change in Swisters demeanor, probably due to the fact that Ishmael had implied that he was insignificant. Swister, like most very successful men, was only powerful because he was deeply insecure. To tell you the truth, life for Swister would have been much more fulfilling if he'd just been a farmer like his father had said.
"Did you just say everything I've done is futile?" Ishmael didn't say that, but he was too panicked to correct his boss who continued to speak. "Everything I've done does have a purpose. I Have a Purpose! EVERYONE WANTS TO LOOK AT ME! Do you think you're better than me? You, you dismal little man." Any positivity that had inhabited the cold, empty shell of Swister had now been replaced with a scolding hot rage.
A violent rage filled him at even the merest suggestion that he might not have any impact on the grander scope of the universe, which he would not. Ishmael lost his balance when his boss began to yell at him. He clutched his chest in an attempt to catch his breath and his vision began to blur.
"You know I wanted to help you, I did. You were having a bad day, so I was gonna bring you in here and give you a little pep talk to raise your spirits, but you just had to come in here and show me nothing but disrespect!" Swister crossed the room to stand above the crumpled ball that had once been Ishmael Kurtis. He grabbed him harshly by the face and was about to scream more obscenities at the frightened man. The door to the office burst open, the women in pinstripes entered the room holding a hard drive in her hand.
"Oh, I'm so sorry to interu-" The woman was about to turn and leave when Swister caught the door with a quick string of words.
"Oh No It's fine, please come in. What do you have for me?" The anger left Nicholas as quickly as it had come. He let go of Ishmael's face, but he left little marks on each cheek. Ishmael attempted to compose himself as Swister was led to his desk. He still felt as though everything was spinning, but he managed to find air where there had once been none.
He managed to make it back to his feet, but when he did the sight, he saw was not a pleasant one. The hard drive the pin striped women was carrying was now plugged into the computer that sat on the CEOs desk. Whatever had been on the computer screen was clearly not pleasant, based on the expression that had found its way onto Mr. Swisters face. His rage and joy had somehow mixed into one, creating a terrifying cocktail that filled the room like a toxic gas, removing any air that Ishmael had managed to find.
"Mr. Kurtis, what is this?" The way that Swister said this made it almost sound like a jolly compliment and not the deadly threat that it truly was. He spun around his computer so the grainy security cam footage of the protests that were happening outside was visible to his suffocating prey.
"Th-That's the…Um…That's the front of the building." This was the most confident reply that he could muster. For a moment, he thought the answer was satisfactory, but he was quickly corrected.
"Just wait a moment." Swisters tone had changed ever so slightly, and it seemed as though he was deriving some sick kind of pleasure from this whole situation. After waiting a moment as instructed, Ishmael finally saw what had enraged his boss. A low-quality version of himself popped onto the screen and proceeded to correct the spelling on a protester's obscene sign.
His stomach dropped and he began to become all too aware of the smell of rotten milk that radiated off of him. He felt like he was going to be sick.
"Do you think this is funny, do you enjoy making me look like a fool? DO YOU!?" He did not, but he felt that nothing he could say would persuade Swister of that. He instead stood there and just took it, figuring that was what would get this over with the quickest. Swister hated the fact that Ishmael refused to react. He catapulted himself over his desk right into Ishmaels face. "Oh, we're being quiet now are we. Well, if you don't care enough to defend yourself, then I guess I'm just gonna have to let you go." Swister was quite pleased with himself. He had put him into checkmate. In moments he expected to have the poor man that stood in front of him groveling on his knees.
"Ok. I'll pack my things" Ishmael refused to give his boss the satisfaction of seeing him fall. He managed to hold his ground and even began to move out before thinking for a moment.
He had allowed others to walk all over him his whole life. He had been a background character in everyone else's story, but not anymore. He was here to reclaim his life. The life which he had not been able to live. The life which he had spent seeing to the needs of people like Nicholas Swister.
Not today.
Not anymore.
He turned around to finally give Swister a piece of his mind, when suddenly a noise hit his ears.
SMASH!
The glassy image of Swister in the window disintegrated into shards. Before he could get a single word out to his boss, a brick collided with the skull of Ishmael Kurtis. He immediately crumpled to the ground. Blood began to flood from his head and pool on the office floor.
As the world became filled with panic and screams around him, Ishmael didn't seem to notice any of that. He was too focused on what had caused all of this. The brick had something written on it.
"Nicholas Swister is a shit eating dog!"
He spelt it right this time.