Beep
Ernest’s back hurt. It hurt most days. He pulled it somewhere in his youth and it never recovered. Some days were better than others. Today was bad.
He was sat at his desk, alone in his office. Office was a generous word, really. It was a blank white room without a window. A single door behind him which was locked from when he came at nine until he left at five. There was a toilet in the corner, which was always kept stocked and clean.
Ernest liked his little toilet. He was the only one who ever used it.
The light on the far wall burned green, accompanied by a harsh, thin beep. He put down his book and looked over his desk, finding the little button marked green. Pressing it, he turned his attention back to his book.
He looked over to his sandwich, then checked his watch. Two more hours to lunch.
Most days he never got more than a dozen lights, for which he had enough money to send the kids to school. He had the best job in the world.
Beep. The light flashed green again.
He answered it, settling back.
Beep. Red.
Beep. Red.
Beep. Red.
Ernest sweat as he relayed each light. It just kept coming. Hitting the button usually turned off the light, but the light kept flashing.
Beep. Red. Beep. Red. Beep. Red. Beep. Blue. Beep. Red. Beep. Orange. Beep. Red. Beep. Red. Beep. Green. Beep. Red.
His chair began to shake. It wasn’t him. It was the whole damned building. The lights kept flashing faster than he could think. In the distance, something roared. Ceiling tiles fell free, one landing in his toilet and spray water over his room. The buzzing beep didn’t stop, it was just a solid, hateful sound.
Red. Red. Red. Red. Green. Green. Green…Green…Green…Green.
Solid Green.
The shaking stopped. Lights swayed from the ceiling. He felt a warmth deep in his bones. But the light in the wall stopped beeping.
Ernest grabbed his sandwich and ran for the door. He had to find what had happened. He had to get home.
He reached the door.
It was locked.
Michael Frutig 