Working Stiff

On Monday, I died.

Terrible, the way it creeps up on you. If I’d known, I mightn’t have bothered refilling the car. Thank goodness I followed my dear mother's advice, (godresther,) and wore clean knickers.

I badged in, and greeted the CEO in the lift, not bothering to correct him when he got my name wrong.

At my desk, I greeted Sam. “Rhonda landed safe in Italy. Reception’s bad, but she’s sending us a postcard. Isn’t that nice?”

Sam smiled from his frame, between that huge fish and silly hat. His absence was softer here, where he wasn’t supposed to be. Chatting to him took the edge off the loneliness you can only feel surrounded by people.

Before lunch, I had a funny turn, and died. Right there at my desk.

The phone rang.

Colin bustled by. “Not going to answer that?” he sniped. I tried to explain but he’d already passed on.

I assumed they’d spot the problem soon, wondering how it’d go. Would they line the corridors for a fallen comrade?

I was less than impressed to spend the night. On Tuesday, I tried harder to grab someone’s (anyone’s) attention, but they couldn’t hear me. I poked them, shouted at the top of my… well, not lungs…. But I shouted, believe you me. People said things like, “Where’s that draught coming from?”

On Wednesday, I thought, this is preposterous. The smell was bothersome, even to me, and it was me. I haunted the rows of desks, peering at intrays and screens. “You’ve made a mistake, there,” I’d say. “That’s going to cost the company a pretty penny if you don’t…” You can imagine my frustration at being unheard, unseen, and faced with such incompetence.

On Thursday, I heard talk of having the building fumigated. I jumped up and down in front of desks, tempted to flash my oh-so-clean knickers. Are they still clean? I’ve been wearing them for four days now...

On Friday, they found me at last. I sighed into Sam’s arms, reassuringly solid, and the building, full of empty people, dissolved all around us.

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Word count - 366

(NB. This excludes the title, subtitle, and authors note.)

Submitted on Thursday 19th September at 18:20

The story behind the story: Not sure if I should admit that this is inspired by real events, because I might get sued. Any similarity to any persons or organisation is accidental. That should do it, right? The moral of the story is: remember what's important, because you could drop dead at work and they probably wouldn't even notice.

A Year of Stories: I'm writing (and submitting, here) a story every day this year. This continues my 263 daily microfiction story streak since 1st January.

Please consider lending your support to the other creators on this madcap "a story every day" adventure. They're putting out excellent content every day!

Rachel Deeming

Gerard DiLeo

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