The slam of the front door echoes through the narrow corridor as I step inside the office, my ears registering the same daily tune — predictable, almost comforting in its monotony:
Obnoxious ringtones blaring, keyboard clattering like rainfall, the rhythmic clicks of mice and the boss in his glass castle tearing into another hapless soul of employee. Add the gentle hum of the coffee machines and the faint murmur of coworkers complaining about their lazy spouses, and you have the melody of a modest workplace.
Ah, the adorable charm of ordinary, everyday life...
I weave my way through the maze of cublicles until I reach my own little corner of the universe. Sliding into my worn-out chair, I take out a bottle of green tea — still warm from the morning — and a small snack. Yes, the tea was a weakness I couldn't resist.
With a press on the button, my ancient computer comes to life, its internal mechanisms groaning like an old man getting out of bed with the worst back pain.
I lean back, savoring this fleeting calm before diving into day's work.
But peace never lasts long here.
THUD!
A massive pile of documents crashes onto my desks, jolting me from my momentary tranquility. Looking up, I see the robust, grim faced boss with his perpetually sour expression.
"Yarikawa!" he barks, his voice loud enough to turn heads across the office.
Suppressing a sigh, I put on my most obliging smile.
"Good morning to you too, boss. How can I enrich you again today?"
"You're supposed to sort these! I told you yesterday twice! What's so hard to understand? Do your damn job, or get the hell out of here!"
I glance at the stack and immediately spot a glaring detail: a note stapled to the top, clearly marked for Ms. Yamada. Is this idiot illiterate or how should I interpret this?
"Boss, I think you assigned this to Mrs. Yamada yesterday, didn't you? Her name is right here written on the note, correct me if I'm mistaken."
He snatches the papers, his eyes narrowing as he reads the note with his own handwriting. For a moment, his expression falters — confusion, disbelief, maybe a hint of embarrassment.
Then, as if by magic, his bluster deflates.
"Oh... uh, right. Well, take it as a lesson to, uh, pay more attention!"
With that weak excuse, he turns on his heel and storms off.
From my seat, I watch him retreat, only to reappear at Ms. Yamada's desk. He deposits the papers, mumbles something, and disappears into his office fast.
Another victory for the art of killing with kindness.
It's hard not to pity him, though. This man is a walking monument of dissatisfaction and self-loathing, and everyone in here knows it.
Still, work calls.
I grab a quick cup of coffee, settle back into my chair, and dive into the grind.
9 hours later...
The sun sets below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of crimson and gold.
The office is almost empty now, save for a few chatterers and the inevitable overachievers staying late to impress the boss. Futile effort, if you ask me.
I power down my computer with a sigh. Another day survived. Another day closer to the freedom.
Freedom... that you would talk about it again, Kii...
Just as I'm about to leave, a voice calls out behind me.
"Yo, Yarikawa! Got a minute?"
I turn to see Nakamura — a colleague around his late 20s — with his usual easy grin. He's standing with some coworkers, all laughing and chattering like good friends.
"What's up, Nakamura?"
"Man, you vanish like a ghost after work these days! What's the deal? Is there a lady eagerly waiting for you at home? Has love finally struck your heart?"
"..."
"Anyway, we're heading to a bar in Shibaura tonight. You're in? Or is your schedule too packed with, you know, mystery?"
"No."
"So, you wanna join?"
"Yes. Let me swing by home and change first."
"Great! Meet us there at 7:30. I'll send you the address. See you!"
As Nakamura turns back to his group, I pause.
Just a brief pause...
Barely a heartbeat...
Only one short moment...
...and then decide to head back to my apartment.
...
Back at my apartment, I desperately hurry into the shower, letting the cold water wash away the day. It feels fleeting though. Like scrubbing at a stain that won't come out.
Stains... so many dreadful stains on your soul, Kii...
Afterwards, I stand in front of the mirror with the crack in the corner, brushing my teeth with quick, almost frantic strokes. My reflection stares back — unimpressive, a shadow of something once vibrant.
Something once vibrant? You are so pathetic, Kii...
I pull on a black sweater fast, a suit jacket, and gray trousers. Simple, clean, unremarkable. As always, the dark colours together result in an overall monotone image.
Darkness has always defined you... hasn't it, Kii?
Before finally stepping out the door, escaping, I steal one last glance at the slightly fractured mirror, My reflection blurs slightly, but my eyes stay sharp.
Why did I end up like this?