Mark took his coffee mug from the office kitchen and stared down at the black, lifeless drink he would down every morning. He loathed the taste but still, for a reason he was unsure of, willingly consumed it at his desk, day after day, week after week, month after month. Perhaps he drank it to take his mind off his tedious job or to punish himself for not attempting to make a move against him. He had caused Mark so much suffering but he had not stood up, for he needed to stay within his favour. Whatever the reason, Mark drank and felt the liquid ooze down his throat. It still felt like a cold beverage, no matter how much he heated it up, it always seemed to be the same icy temperature.
Mark looked around the room as he always did and saw the same kitchen, as he always did. He always stood in this spot to take his first sip. It was pointless really. There was never anything new to look at. He supposed he did it because the familiarity was comforting, unlike anything else in his life. His gaze found the blonde haired man with unusually dark eyes standing by the magazine stand, the usual. The lady behind the bench counting money from the register with fiery red hair, the usual. The man or woman whose face Mark never saw sat on the sofa masked by their newspaper, the usual.
They all seemed content and happy. Simultaneously, every action they performed seemed robotic and mindless. He would never pick on them. Mark wondered if they knew something he didn't. Sometimes he wondered if he was the only one who didn't feel complete every day, like something was missing.
Mark didn't want to leave his spot to go into the tiny, claustrophobic cubicles he was forced to spend ten hours in every day. None the less, he had to or he was going to give him a hard time. So Mark lowered the mug from his lips and walked to the matrix of prisons to find his cell. When he stood upright he could clearly see over all of the cubicles. He wondered why they even bothered putting "walls" in between them as they offered the employees less privacy than the peak of a bare mountain. All of them were slightly different, some had photos on their walls, others had drawings made by their darling children. Some had a hideous working space and others were well organised with the tiniest of notes stored away into neat little boxes and trays. But they all shared the same strange trait. Their almost hypnotic mindlessness.
Again Mark wondered how they were all so content just sitting at their desks just, well, working. Perhaps that was why he never picked on them, because they were happy and willingly did what he asked. Mark on the other hand, wasn't the loyalist of employees. He easily became bored at his desk and would often find himself screwing old notes into the tightest of balls and trying to throw them into his bin for entertainment. He had nicknamed his game, Office Diversion. He was pretty proud of that name. It was the only pride this job ever allowed him to have.
When Mark finally found his humble little cubicle he set his mug upon his desk and slumped into the hard plastic chair provided by the compact package. He checked his to do list and then his digital clock. It read 10:03am. His heart skipped a beat as the strange sensation of someone watching him quivered down his spine. He nervously glanced upwards from his desk to see him leaning on the wall of his cubical. His eyes were hidden inside the flab of his dead straight brows, from that, Mark read a disapproving expression. He swallowed dryly. "Mr Dominus sir," Mark's voice broke as the words came out making him sound like a twelve year old boy even though he was twenty-five year old man. That was what happened when he was around his boss.
The reason Mark hated this fat, obnoxious man was that he had tricked him. Mark had applied for his job thinking it would be temporary. A source of income to make sure he could eat and pay the rent until he could figure out what to do with his life. Mr Dominus had seemed so nice at the interview, like a welcoming, adaptable boss. Boy had he gotten that wrong. Before hiring Mark, Mr Dominus had presented him with a contract and stated that it was "just some technical stuff" and that he had to sign it before being employed. Mark hadn't thought much of it at the time and willingly signed without reading it through first. What he later found out was that contract was binding. It stated that he was to work for Mr Percival Dominus for three years and would receive no other income from anyone or anything. It was a devious move and on Mark's first day on the job, his new boss explained to him what he had signed up for and then immediately began treating him like a slave. Like a slave, he whipped him and the lashes hit hard. And so Mark was forced to endure the beatings and the labour, ten hours a day, five days a week, fifty weeks a year. That was why Mark hated his boss like an angel would Satan.
Mark dared not make eye contact and kept his head angled awkwardly towards his desk. "Mr Fischbach," he addressed Mark reproachfully, "would you mind explaining to me why you are an hour late this morning?" Damn right I would he thought to himself. He didn't want to tell him, or anybody for that matter. It was embarrassing and he hardly admitted it to himself. So he made an excuse instead, "My car broke down and I had to get it toed." It was a terrible lie but it would do the job. Mr Dominus grunted and dealt out his punishment, "Well if that's the case I'm afraid you'll have to stay until eight o'clock today!"
That was when the funeral started. Her funeral. She had died very recently in a terrible car crash. She was what kept Mark motivated to go to work everyday, to keep in touch with his family that lived half way across the country. After her death, nothing felt right. He continually denied that she was gone and was always half expecting to see her waiting for him after work. Her death was so sudden. So unbelievable. She was so young. To miss her funeral would be something else. That would be a whole new level of grief. The only reason Mark came to work that day was because he knew he would be able to come home and go say goodbye to her. No. This was something Mr Dominus would not have a say in.
"No." He said.
"I beg your pardon?" Mark immediately regretted his decision and slumped back down into his seat, becoming afraid again.
"I-I have a funeral I have to attend at eight o'clock." Mark stuttered.
"Well does it look like I give a damn? Get back to work and I want to see you at your desk until eight o'clock or you can kiss your pay check goodbye!" With that he stood up straight and charged back into his private office.
The whip cracked and the wound bled as Mark realised he would have to choose between eating and seeing her off. It shouldn't have been a hard decision but it was. Enraged, Mark violently shoved all the papers off his desk and slammed his head into the newly clear surface. The pain was excruciating but it did not compare to the fiery anger growing inside of him. With every second his head lay on the desk his eyes became more and more full with water and his vision was blurred like smoke lingering from the flames inside him. How could someone be so insensitive? There were many levels of evil and what Mark's boss had just done to him was the lowest form. In his anger and sadness Mark whispered to himself, "Oh Charlie, why did you leave me?"
