It wasn't Oliver Schiffer's day. Actually, bullshit. It never had been Oliver Schiffer's day. He just wasn't one of those happy-go-lucky types that ever had a good day. So, it was the usual day at the office. Oliver rubbed his temples miserably. He had a blinding headache.
"Good night last night, was it?", one of his colleagues joked, seeing Oliver rubbing his forehead, a large bottle of paracetamol standing on the desk next to him.
Oliver's face barely registered his disgust. The man was implying he had been drinking the night before. As if he would have been drinking on a work night. As if he would have anyone to go drinking with. He gave a slight jerk of his head to acknowledge the comment, but did not say anything. He didn't even know the name of his coworker, he was just trash. Oliver couldn't muster even the slightest bit of interest in the office gossip and banter, he preferred to sit silently at his desk and carry on with his work.
He groaned quietly under his breath, reaching for the paracetamol. He tipped a couple into his pale hand and gulped them down with the dregs of a cold cup of coffee that sat on his desk. Pulling a face at the taste, he put the cap back onto the bottle and turned his attention to the computer screen. Numbers. More and more numbers. Calculate this, tabulate that, work out the profit margins on such and such a meaningless component for a meaningless company that he didn't even know anything about, much less care. Well, Oliver was good with numbers. Very good. Pity he wasn't much good with people. Or very much else either, for that matter. Work was his only friend. That wasn't to say he enjoyed it, just that it provided a temporary distraction from the pain that he felt the rest of the time.
"Morning", a bright and cheery voice drifted over to Oliver's ears. He twitched slightly, there was no mistaking the owner of that voice. The only tiny ray of sunlight in the darkness of Oliver's life, Marie Taylor. Probably the only person in the office who ever bothered to speak to him; not that that meant that she liked or cared about him, just that she didn't look straight through him, make jokes behind his back, or offload extra work onto him at every possible opportunity. Oliver's hands tightened into fists under the table and he risked a glance in Marie's direction. Her long orange hair swung freely at her waist, her astonishingly curvaceous figure flattered by the fashionable suit she was wearing.
"Hey, Oliver, I got you something!", she called out.
Oliver felt his unusually pale face heating up. She couldn't be talking to him, right? No, wait, he was the only Oliver in the office, she had to be talking to him.
He looked up at her. She was smiling cheerfully and holding out her hand, in which she held something wrapped up in a piece of tissue paper. He eyed it suspiciously. "What is it?", he asked quietly.
"Take it, its nothing big, just enjoy it", she said happily.
Apprehensively, Oliver took the package from her hand and inspected it. It contained a round donut with bright green icing. "Like your eyes", she said, jokingly.
Oliver sat for several seconds just staring at the donut as if it could somehow bite him. No one had ever given him a donut before. No one had ever given him anything. He wasn't even sure he liked donuts, he didn't have much of a sweet tooth.
"Thank you", he managed to say.
"No problem, don't work too hard!"
For the next 20 minutes, Oliver stared at the computer screen, but failed to focus on the numbers written there. Occasionally he would risk a glance at the donut which was sitting on the desk a few feet from him, as if he thought maybe it would crawl away.
If he was going to be completely honest, Oliver had been in love with Marie ever since she had joined the team 4 months ago; skipping into the office with her floaty, feminine outfits, her bright, unrelenting smile and her carefree demeanour. It was like a breath of sweet summer air had been wafted into the gloomy, tedious office along with the floral perfume she usually wore. But Oliver wasn't going to be honest with either himself or anyone else. He knew that the attention she gave him was mere politeness, mere friendliness which she would extend to anyone, regardless of how miserable their personality or appearance may be.
When Oliver returned to work the next day, the donut had gone. He had been strangely nervous to pick it up and take it with him when he left the office the previous evening, around an hour after every other one of his co-workers had drifted off, chattering about plans for the evening, or heading off to dinner together. Leaving Oliver to tie up all the loose ends, as usual. Well, it wasn't like he wanted to go and drink with his colleagues. Their small minded chit chat, their pointless gossip and their meaningless lives were of no interest to him; these narrow minded, "normal" people made him feel sick. He knew deep down that they were just trash, although the small twinge of loneliness that he felt as he pulled on his coat and switched off the lights said that perhaps he wasn't quite as immune to the lure of the warmth and brightness of the others' lives as he liked to think he was.
Oliver didn't know where the donut had gone, or why he even cared. He hadn't had much intention of eating it anyway. He had never had much interest in food at the best of times; dinner normally involved a can and the microwave. But it had perhaps represented a little tiny spark of kindness and happiness that had been offered to him for just a moment. Anyway, it was gone now, presumably it had been cleaned up by the cleaners after he had left, he shouldn't have expected otherwise. He shrugged slightly and sat down at his desk, focussing once more on his computer screen, his eyes barely flicking over to Marie, who was sitting on her desk at the other side of the office, laughing with some of their co-workers. The slightest twitch of the muscle at his temple registered his mild discomfort, but his expression remained impassive and he shifted his concentration back to his work, where it belonged.
Unfortunately for Oliver, the headaches he had been having on a regular basis recently, were not looking like they were going to disappear any time soon. By lunchtime, as his colleagues began to unwrap sandwiches and salads, or head out to grab coffees and fast food, Oliver found himself sitting rather dejectedly by the water cooler, his head in his hands, nursing yet another god-awful migraine.
It was at this point that a rather unneccessarily cheerful voice met his ears, "Oliver! Do you want to come to lunch?"
Oliver groaned quietly. Perhaps the last person that he wanted to see at this point. No, wait, there was a very long list of people he didn't want to see at all, comprising of more or less everyone he had ever met. "Marie," he muttered, looking up at her for a moment, his eyes appearing almost inhumanly large and green and extremely sad to the cheery young woman who was facing him.
"O-oh... are you ok Oliver?" she asked, some degree of genuine concern in her voice. "Do you need anything?"
Oliver sighed and shook his head, "no, I'm fine, enjoy your lunch," he muttered, with a brief attempt at cordiality.
Marie eyed him for a few moments, looking slightly worried, although sensing that he would prefer to be alone, she gave a quick nod and turned to leave, momentarily giving him what might have been an encouraging smile, although he wasn't quite sure what that was. He watched her walk out of the office, before sinking his head back into his hands.
A few days later, Oliver Schiffer woke up with even more of a sense of dread than usual. It was his least favourite day of the year, which was saying something, since there weren't really any days that he enjoyed. It was valentine's day, the scourge of anyone who was alone and miserable, but doubly the scourge of anyone who was faced with the unpleasant realisation that the person they adored more than anything in the world was completely and utterly unattainable. He eyed the small package that lay on his bedside table with mingled disgust and fear. He knew what it contained; it contained his doom.
His forehead was coated with a thin film of cold sweat as he shuffled into work that day, and a lump gradually formed in his throat as he tried to settle down to work. In vain. He managed only a few minutes worth of work before he began to rock backwards and forwards on his chair in agitation, palms sweating and mouth drying out unpleasantly. It seemed like an eternity until the morning break when he was able to traipse awkwardly over to Marie's desk, his heart (or what passed for it) in his mouth. In his hand he clutched the small box, tied up with a green ribbon. As he caught sight of Marie, an extremely horrible sensation of nausea entered the pit of his stomach. She was sitting at her desk, pink with happiness and excitement, surrounded by several cards, bunches of flowers and heart shaped packages, giggling to herself as she read one of the cards.
If Oliver could have flushed, he would have. As it was, he rapidly shoved the tiny, horribly insignificant gift into his pocket and hurried to go back to his desk.
"Hey, wait... Oliver? How's it going?" her voice called after him, cheery, not realising the pain that was mounting in Oliver's chest.
"N-nothing," Oliver muttered, his mouth dry, before scurrying back to his desk and fixing his eyes steadfastly on his computer screen.
That evening, Marie lingered behind after work to wait for Oliver, hoping that perhaps they could walk home together or even maybe grab a drink or a snack together. However, when she approached the pale administrator's desk, she realised he had already disappeared. Where, she wasn't quite sure. He was usually the last to leave, and was always at his desk. She sighed quietly, turning away, before her eyes were suddenly drawn to a small, shiny green box at the side of his desk. Curiosity getting the better of her, she gave the box a second look. It had a label on it, a rather stiff "To Marie, from Oliver". Her eyes widened a little and she wondered whether or not it would be ok to open it. It had obviously been intended for her, but for some reason he hadn't given it to her. Blushing slightly, and looking nervously around her to make sure no one else was there, she began to tease off the ribbon and open the box. Inside was a small, but very beautiful pendant, with a small amber stone, the exact same shade as her eyes.
It occurred to Marie that perhaps Oliver had wanted to give it to her, but been too shy or too embarassed to do so. Her cheeks slightly pink, Marie pushed the small box into her pocket, forgetting all the other gifts that were littering her desk, before heading swiftly out of the office.
The next day, Oliver Schiffer did not turn up for work. Nor the next day, nor the next. When Marie tried his cell phone, or his home number, no one answered. Eventually, worry getting the better of her, she caught the bus to his small flat and rang the bell. Several times. To no response.
Oliver Schiffer was not the sort of person to go to see doctors. He hated to admit weakness to anyone, and he also hated to be touched, prodded or examined in any way, let alone have needles or other such medical apparatus anywhere near him. But that night he had had no choice in the matter. The pain which had been building steadily in his head throughout the past few weeks finally reached a crescendo, causing the small, slim young man's vision to go black, before he fell to the floor unconscious in the middle of the bus that he took home every day of his pitiful existence. By the time the doctors diagnosed the advanced brain tumour that had been growing in Oliver Schiffer's skull for the last 4 months, there wasn't even the slightest hope of saving him. He died 3 days later in hospital, without ever regaining consciousness to see the note Marie had left for him: "Hey Oliver, are you ok? I loved the gift, I hope you don't mind that I opened it. Maybe we could go out for dinner sometime, if you're not too busy? Please get back to me as soon as you can, I'm worried about you. Love, Marie."