No Suprises

[T-Hop]

Someone from a different forum wrote this, it's not really a short story, but whatever.......


Part One

At six twenty the alarm goes off. I hit snooze. At six twenty-three it goes off again. I have two minutes. I sit somewhat awake, staring at the women next to me. She won’t get out of bed today. She will do nothing of any importance within the next twenty-four hours. I have one minute. I turn and look to the window. There is little light. The apartment across the street stands still. Only two lights are can be seen. It is silent. There is silent silence. My two minutes are gone.

I stumble across to the bathroom tripping on the pile of cloths on the floor. I should have put those away last night. I undress and throw my cloths in the pile of collected clothing from the previous week. I should probably go take those to the cleaners. I look in the mirror to only see I’m still here, with the same dark rings around my eyes and the stubble on my face. I care little and get into the shower. I wash and slowly get out, failing to grab a towel. I would, but they are the foundation of the pile. I grab my shirt from last night and dry myself. I stand naked looking in the mirror. I have noticed I slightly curve to the right and assume it is because I’m right handed. I walk out of the bathroom, failing to close the blinds, and find a pair of kakis. I decide I will wear a blue button-up with a white tie. It was the same outfit I wore Friday. My co-workers will not take notice though. I would be surprised if they knew my name. I go back into the bathroom and do my hair. Straight on top, flipped in the front. The same as it has always been. I walk out of the bathroom and get my socks and shoes on. I glance at the window. The sun is rising. I look at the clock. Six forty-nine. I am two minutes faster than yesterday.

She roles over, looks at me, yawns, and goes back to sleep. I question myself, and decided it is defiantly because I am right handed.

Walking out I shut the door, so she will not be disturbed while I make breakfast. I grab a box, I grab a bowl, pour the cereal, and put it way. Today it is Resin Brand, yesterday it was Grape Nuts. Maybe I will treat myself to eggs tomorrow. But tomorrow is still seventeen hours and eleven minutes away. I pour the milk into the filled bowl. Tomorrow doesn’t really exist. There is only today. Now. Tomorrow, tomorrow will become today. Then today will become yesterday. Yesterday does not exist. There is only today. Now. Therefore if yesterday does not exist and today will be yesterday, today will not exist. And if today does not exist than there is no tomorrow, which never existed anyway. I take my last bite and swallow, pour the milk out into the sink, and place the bowl on the bowl from yesterday. The bowl disproves my theory. I grab my keys, turn out the lights, and leave.

I don’t bother to lock the door.


Part Two

Three flights of stairs. Thirty-six stairs in total. Stairs nine, twenty-two, and twenty-five creek. There is a stain on the carpet right at the bottom of the stairs, the land lord apparently doesn’t care. The window between the second and third flights is cracked slightly on the upper left side, no more than a half an inch long. The railing that leads down the stairwells has been re-painted four different times, or at least since I have been here. There is a small dent in the wall at the top of the first flight. Apparently a little missus was being teased publicly, or so the story goes. These are the unimportant details that consume my life.

I have no car. I need no car. I can walk. Or take the bus. Walking would be beneficial to my health. Much more than the bus. I could breathe real air. Smell the fresh aromas that float in the air. I could appreciate the life that surrounds me. Take it in. Cherish the sights and sounds. I could say hello to a neighbor. See how his kids are doing. “Derick is in the play? Well that’s great!” I could stop and grab a cup of coffee. Help the hometown business. I could get a little sun. I could become fitter, healthier, and more productive.

I take the bus.

I slip 50 cents into the slot. Rob smiles and gives his thanks. He knows it cost less than a dime to get to work. I sit, alone, in row four. It is the same row I sat in yesterday. I watch the world pass through a brown tint. It reminds me of dog shit.

[T-Hop]

Sorry for the double post, but the stary was to long to fit in one post, here are the other parts

Part Three

I walk in the twirling doors of the only skyscraper that stands in this town. “Good morning” Cindy, the clerk at the front desk, says with a smile. I look sheepishly and a faint smile appears, although I say nothing. A couple of head nods, a few waves, and one “Hey!” This is the recognition I get here. Cindy would be the only one to know my name. To everyone else I am just “you” or “the guy that works in graphic design.” If they ask my name their attention has gone to somewhere else by the time I answer. I do not answer anymore. I just walk off. They waste my time and I cannot occupy theirs. Cindy is the only one I talk to. Although, there is little talk. It is not a conversation. Our talks begin “Cindy, there is a problem in the printing room, could you help me?” followed by little squeals with the occasional “it feels so fucking good!” By the time we’re done fixing the printer she finishes our conversation with something along the lines of “Dear God, why don’t you ever come over after work?” She doesn’t know a thing about my home life.
Level six. I press the button with a six on it and it lights up. There are three other men standing in the elevator with me. One is toned, one is fat, and the other is just pudgy. The fat one has a stain right below his collar. He must have already ate his fourth breakfast. The muscular defiantly has an erection at the moment, though I don’t know why. He has got his portfolios in front of his groin but you can still tell. He keeps staring at the pudgy one. Never would have guessed he liked it from behind. They are talking about some football game. I can not tell which one. It seems they always talk about the same one. I stand there staring at the door.
“Hey buddy, you see the game?” the muscular one asks. I do not turn to look at them and continue to stair. I mutter a “No”.
“Ahh man you’d shit your self if you woulda saw it. It was great. We did great. We killed those bastards. Serves them right coming into our field and talking shit” the fat one blabbers. I should punch him. What team is he apart of? Maybe Weight Watcher’s Special Olympics for the obese. He did absolutely nothing. He sat on his ass and did absolutely nothing but yell at the t.v. and eat. They are apart of nothing but their own imaginary world. This is probably why I hate this job.
“Well, that’s great” I say walking off the elevator. They continue to talk.


Part Four

On the six floor there are seven “work stations” as my boss called them. He called them work stations before he died, anyway. He threw himself off the top of his house into cement. It was unfortunate that he did not die on impact, he blacked out and died of major blood loss. It is amazing the number of things depression can do to you. In his letters he blamed his work. He blamed his boss. At the end, I herd, of the note it said “This job has slowly killed me.” Of course seeing all these beautiful naked women on a daily basis with out someone at all would make one down, I suppose. His boss quit and now lives somewhere and hasn’t said a word to us since. None of us saw it coming though. The rest of them, the other five of them, thought he was great. He annoyed the hell out of me. He was too happy to be working here. I am not saying the being happy is a bad thing, but his joy annoyed me. The way he talked annoyed me. His comb over, his end of the week meetings, he annoyed me. I despised him with all I had. And then he died and got a new boss who does not talk to us. I am thankful for that. I do see a connection between my old boss and I, though. I, too, and slowly being killed.

I sit and I work on a pair of breast on Photoshop. We have various major porn sites paying us to create the layout for them. It is a fantastic project. I sit and see the fake love. The fake beauty. The fake passion. The fake moans. These things do not appeal to me like they used to. I used to love the fake. That was when I was six-teen, though. I no longer see it as a source of self-pleasure. I see it for what it really is. Fake, shitty, tedious work. I finish with the large breasted blond and send the file to the guys up in programming, so they can put it on the site. I then start working on a Latino in just a thong. I love this job.

That is not the worst part of this job. Besides the one time we had to work a layout of a gay porn site, lunch is the worst time. I could go out and eat. I could go out and get some air. I could go out and support the local café. But I stay and eat microwaveable meal I put in the refrigerator yesterday. I open the microwave. Press the two. Then the zero. And the zero once again. Then I press start and I sit and watch my meal spin around. The two minutes pass and I take out my meal and go to the corner of the room and sit at the table there. I pray to what ever that no one sits near me. Unfortunately, that never happens. A kid name Josh sits with me. He always sits with me. And he still does not know my name. He is the definition of a loser.

“Hey man,” he says as he plops down in his seat with his three burritos.
“Hi”
“Did you see those smokin’ babes we get to work with next? Damn, they’ve got some of the pinkest, finniest pussies I’ve seen in a while,” Josh says while he shoves the first burrito into his mouth.
“Yeah”
“Dude, did you hear?” he ask with his mouth full.
“What?”
“Angie, you know, who works over near the elevator, she got knocked up!”
“Awesome.”
“Yeah, I know. I herd it was from some random dude to. She doesn’t know who the daddy is!” he says while he laughs.
“Funny”
“You know, she’s going to go to hell for that. I guarantee it. People like her should be put to sleep. Well, not to sleep I suppose, but, something should be done about them. They’re polluting the world and making us good people look bad. I mean, her and her black hole of a vagina is probably dirtier than the hobo who asked for change outside the office every day. And that child, I bet you it’s one of those mixed mutts. You know, half white half dirty, shitty black. God will damn that whole family, if that is what you want to call them,” saying as his finishes his third burrito.

I look at him. Almost stare, but not quite. I leave my plate and walk out. I cannot stand people like that. I cannot stand people who use God to justify there though of being more superior. I wish they would just shut their fucking mouths.

The time is now one twenty three. That means I have seven minutes until I need to “report back to my working station.” What to do. What to do. I realize there is nothing to do. I go stand by the window over looking the city. Cars, bikes, people. All of them occupy there lives with things that keep them rushing. Rushing leads to stress. Stress leads to depression. It is a wonder why we live in a time where no one is happy.

I draw my eyes from the ground to the building across the street. I count forty-two stories. This is the same amount of stories there where yesterday, as well as last Friday. There is one more person on the roof than usual, creating a total of one person on the roof.

“That is an odd place to be for lunch” I mumble to myself.

I also realize the gathering crowd below it. First two people stop as one points up, and more come, to point. Possibly yelling as well, although I am not sure. A cop car can be herd, as well as seen speeding towards the crowd. It stops in front of the crowd. The cop comes out with a mega phone. He, as I was able to tell by his mustache, beings to talk into it to it. It seems to only look down at the gathering crowd. Now more people are congregated below. It looks like it yells something to crowd. The crowd starts waving their hands frantically, as though telling it no. It steps up on the ledge, the crowd pulls out their cell phones. It takes a step, the crowd begins to disperse. A tap on my shoulder.

“It is one thirty two, please return to your work station” Karl, my new boss, says.

I turn from the window and go sit back down. There has gone two minutes of my life where I will not be looking at a pair of breast, a vagina, or an ass of some twenty-something year old in California who think she will be the first porn star to not get pregnant on set and have every STD there is possible. It’s quite depressing to think about how their life would be. At least they didn’t occupy the two extra minutes I watched it.

I sit. I work. Repeat.

Sit.

Work.

Repeat.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, this pattern is fallowed.

Monday: Sit. Work. Repeat.

Tuesday: Sit Work. Repeat.

Wednesday: Sit. Work. Repeat.

Thursday: Sit. Work. Repeat.

Friday: Sit.

This is the kind of job that would make you want to step off a forty two story building.

This is the kind of job that would make you take a handshake of carbon-monoxide.

Sit.

Work.

Stop. Go home.

I take the stairs this time. For good reasons. Only the healthy people ever take the stairs. That limits the company to about a total of six people. I walk past Cindy, she tells me the printers have been working up all day and grins. At the bottom of the stair well there are two men standing and talking. One nods. I do nothing. They continue talking.

I walk out the front door of the building. I look to the bus stop. Police tape.

“Great,” I think as I look around. Everywhere: police tape. I look directly in front of me. I look past the cars, the street, and the people. A decent size blood stain encompasses a fairly big crack in the sidewalk. It didn’t look that big when it stepped. I turn and walk towards the bus stop but continue to walk.

I think I will walk home today.

[T-Hop]

LOL, guys this is the last part, sorry for the tripe post, but it couldnt fit into 1 post........

Part Five


I walk past a lady. She stares at the blood, and shakes her head, and walks away. She doesn’t really care. Tomorrow she will wake up the same way she woke up today, forgetting she ever saw it. I see a man touch his head, then his chest, then left shoulder, and finally right. God. Jesus. Holey Ghost. Yes, we know. “God bless that soul…if only he would have seen the way earlier” I figured he was saying to himself. It sounds like something they would say. God is the way, fallow him and he will show you the path to happiness. No thank you, I’ll just fallow my own trail. I watch as a kid points and tells his mother someone outlined themselves on the side walk and then painted themselves red. The mother replied “Yes, dear, come along.” I find it funny how we hide the truth from the youth.

I turn the corner and the rest of the city seems to be working as normal. Cars, people, eating, reading, going, nothing. I pass person after person. They look straight ahead, or the other direction. I look straight ahead, or the other direction. After a block, I start to see them. They make who we are. I make who we are. All of them are like mirrors. I am like a mirror. Loosened ties, buttons undone, semi-messy hair. Dark circles under their eyes, lips slightly opened, backs not quite straight, no signs of actual life in them. I see them, and they see me. We see who we are. We are stuck. I am them, and they are me. I hate them, I hate myself. This continual numbing life cycle we have created together is made up by our seclusion. Our hearts are like landfills, eyes like burnt out lights, minds like a broken computer. I see them and the see me. I am them. They are me.

Trees. Smaller buildings. That means the city is behind. There’s a park right outside the city and to the right of me as I walk. I see kids playing as though their life doesn’t exist. The play so freely, with out any thought of the possible harms they could put upon themselves. The play with smiles, with laughter, they play because they are alive. I walk away, dead.

Houses. There are houses all around me. They have color, they seems nice. The lawns and gardens have been tended to, the houses look up to society’s standards. The look different in the same way they look the same. They look like a happy life. They look like there is purpose, meaning, promise that dwells inside the walls. A presence just makes me fell awkwardly pleased, only to come with isolation. I could not live here. I have no purpose. I have no meaning. I have no promise. I do not contribute for the betterment, not do I destroy. I am the neutral that won’t do a thing to be remembered for. Not even by friends. They are such pretty houses and such pretty gardens. I am left to nothing. I do not feel anything but isolation and loneliness. I feel nothing but the same. There is not any hope for me. I will always stay the same.

After more and more houses, a shop here and there, I can see my apartments. I look up, lights are on. I guess she’s moved from the bed to the couch. I approach the door to the building, and open. I go get our mail and check through it. Victoria Secret catalogue, credit card bill, credit card offer, and a package. It is about time something actually happened that made me a bit pleased. I walk upstairs and knock on the door, hopefully she will come get the door. Actually, that was dumb on my part to hope. I open the door without any problem. I had forgotten I hadn’t locked it when I left. I take my shoes off and walk in through the living room and down the hall into our room. I take my cloths off and throw them on the pile. I should really wash the pile. I suppose I will get to it later. I go back out into the living room where she’s asleep completely naked on the couch.

I enter the kitchen and start to make myself two burritos. It is the same as I had last night. As I close the microwave door and press one-three-zero, I hear her move on the couch.

“Hey,” she mumbles.

“What’s the occasion?”

“I thought you’d and I like to…you know,” she says looking at me. She actually is horny, because I can tell she is trying to seduce me.

“So then, which one of your friends was over here while I was work?” My tone doesn’t change at all. She seems bewildered.

“What the hell are you talking about? No one was over here.”

“Oh. So you didn’t just pass out because on of your boy-toys came over here and fucked you to the point you became exhausted?”

Silence.

“Or…wait, let me guess. You fucked whoever and were drinking while doing it, and we all know what booze plus sex equals,” I say as I see the drinking glasses are tipped over on the coffee table.

“Oh, but please, honey, I don’t care. I really don’t. I mean, you do do some much around here. You are do help pay for this place and put food on the table. I don’t mind if its dirty. I really don’t. I mean, I find it amazing that your so called “friends” pay you because they think you’re so incredible to fuck. I understand that since you’re in-between jobs now that it’s the only way to provide for us, and truly, I understand. It’s not like I sit at work all day wonder when a bomb will go off in the foundation of the building and it will collapse. It’s not like I don’t look at the houses on the way home and wish I could be living in such a paradise. And, no, I never think about how I wish you would do something for once, if not for me but for you. I mean…”

She gets up off the couch, and I go push you back down on it. I can see tears running down her cheeks.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry honey. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I guess…it’s just…I don’t know. No, wait, yes I do. It’s you. It’s this life. I’m sick of it. I feel alone when I’m without you, but that doesn’t changes when I’m with you. You’ve reserved the void in my heart and have yet to fill it. We have nothing here. You and me, we aren’t me. We’re we ever? I don’t know. Maybe when we fucked, but you’ve found others for that I can see. You’ve done nothing to show you want a relationship, you’ve shown nothing but you’re filthy whore. And I’m retarded for even letting you stay this long. This is it.”

And it is it. This is my final fit, my final bellyache.

She goes into her room, and softly shuts the door. I assume she’s crying on the bed. I go get my burritos and eat and watch the T.V. She comes out dressed in a tank top and pajama bottoms. She sits with next to me, and stares.

“I’m sorry.”

I look at her, she begins to tear up again. I turn away again.

“I really am. I won’t do it anymore, I swear to God. I’ll go find a job, I’ll help out around here, I’ll…I’ll do anything.”

I look at the same eyes I always fall for. She means it. This time, she does. Or so I tell myself. I give her a kiss and then another one. An hour later she lies in bed, asleep once again. I go into the bathroom and look in the mirror. I see myself. No shirt, boxers, semi-messy hair. Dark circles under my eyes, lips slightly opened, backs not quite straight, no signs of actual life. I walk out and turn off the light, and shut off the rest of the lights. I grab my package and open it. I take the Lunesta bottle and open it. “take only two before bed” I read on the back. I take out twelve and one by one, pop them in, take a drink of water, and swallow. I walk to bed and crawl in.

Tomorrow won’t come, because it doesn’t exist. I’ll wake up with no alarms and no surprises.

No alarms.

No Surprises.

[BlinkAvAfan21]

Way too long blink, lol

[StockholmSarah]

Spell check is a handy tool.

[T-Hop]

lol, your right, I just re-read it, and their (LOL) are a bunch of errors

[blinknullmiss6969]

yeaaaa too long to read

[AVA100]

It was fucking amazing, I liked it a lot:) but those errors did get quite annoying.

[Ishak]

Hi,
I am tired to read it till half and i will complete it tomorrow..
But its really a nice thread... Errors is not a problem at all but i would say that it is easy to understand..

[spoiledkid]

That was too long . . . !!!
Interesting read . . . And thank you for sharing .

[Coleman]

I would like to appreciate for this wonderful sharing.
Don't go for the errors. But this is also true that if it would be concise then it would be better.
Thanks for sharing.
Evanston Personal Trainer (http://www.chitownbootcampsblog.com/evanston-personal-trainer-learn-how-to-lose-weight-for-less)