Salvation

2 |

Trouble In Sacrifice?

A L E X A N D R I A
—

"Hurry up with the paper!" my boss snaps. At the moment, I'm involved in one of the office meetings that my boss, hereafter known as the Destroyer of Sanity, or Mr. Shifts if he hasn't been a deplorable shit within the past ten hours (prepare never to hear him referred to as Mr. Shifts), appears to love.

Essentially, these meetings are an excuse to yell at me for all the little things I've done wrong, and when he runs out of those (which occurs quite often, as I fuck up very little), the things I "should've done differently". Always, he uses this line when he's referring to something he told me I should do, so I did it, and then he changed his mind afterwards.

I stand up, dusting off my black, ripped skinny jeans, and stride off without another word. I'm perfectly aware that, should I open my mouth, a stream of profanities will emerge. My coworkers glare at me as I shove past them, which doesn't really faze me. It's not as if they haven't bullied me to the extent that, were I someone else, I would've cried myself to sleep every night.

"The document better be ready by lunch!" he shouts after me, and it takes all of my strength not to whirl around and shove my middle finger in his face. It's all for the money, Alex. When you're rich, you can go to his house and toilet paper it. Only in the finest of toilet paper, of course, just as a big "fuck you" to him. Or, better yet, start a new trend, like hurling only the finest of bombs at your ex - boss' house. Now that would be enjoyable!

My thoughts give me the energy to stride over to my office and slip into it. I type relentlessly, holding the money over my own head like a promise. Soon, you will be rich. Soon, you will. Soon. Soon. Soon. The chant in my head is never - ending.

I hate this job. Accounting isn't my passion. Passionfruit is my passion, but more on that later.

To be honest, I don't know what my passion is. Probably money. That's the only thing in one's life that can be relied upon. Humans are the ones who make it unreliable. I hate humans, the filthy bunch of them.

And before you ask, yes. Myself included.

Even before lunch, I'm finished my work. As always, I complete everything with more thoroughness than I was asked to display, and as always, my boss finds another reason to despise me.

I wonder if it's because I'm bisexual. Oh, I take that back: it's definitely because of that. He's a homophobic loser, but what can I do? He pays better than any other boss I've had. I just seem to have shitty luck with my career. Worked my ass off in school, but it didn't make a difference. My good work was rewarded with shit, and shits were rewarded with good work.

As soon as I see that it's time for lunch, I put my paper bag in front of me and neatly remove a green apple, placing it next to the bag. After this, I grasp my mango - flavoured drink and carefully lay it onto the same line. Good. They're all aligned.

Momentarily, this brings some brightness to my day, but I know I shouldn't let it. It's OCD behaviour, and I have enough time on my hands dealing with my other issues. I don't need to let my old ones sprout up again.

Lifting my fist, I smash it into my desk, holding back some of my power. I know that if I don't hold back at all, I'll break something. Mixed martial arts are great, except when you don't actually want to break a board and just want to tap on it. I learned that the hard way.

My apple flies off my desk and rolls out of place, barely stopping short of falling off my desk. My mango drink (thank whoever the hell's up there, most likely no one, that there's a lid on that thing) jiggles in place before falling to the side. The paper bag just collapses. As all this occurs, I allow my head to fall into my hands.

"What was that?" the Destroyer of Sanity snaps, opening the door approximately five seconds after I slam my fist down despite the fact that his office is on an entirely different floor than mine. Sometimes I wonder if he just stands outside my door, waiting for an opportunity to grow riled at me. Upon hearing his voice, I jerk my head up, refusing to be witnessed in a moment of weakness by him.

"What you may have heard was the sound of my fist fairly violently slamming against my desk. It was for a good cause, I assure you."

"I don't care what it was!" he snaps.

"Makes sense," I allow. "Most people question others for knowledge on topics that they do not care about."

His glare beams into my eyes. I muster up a smile (fake, of course – I haven't enjoyed a real smile in a long time), just to annoy him. It works. I'm good at manipulating people, I consider it one of my skills. It's fun, too.

"Don't do it again!" he blusters. "It was a disturbance to the workplace!" He then leaves in a rush, slamming the door. Ironically, this causes more noise than my fist did.

"Since you asked so nicely," I call after him.

With a groan, I settle back into my chair and, after inspecting it to see the effects of my attack, sip the bottle of juice quietly. "Oh, well. Yesterday was worse."

—

I like the way these characters are so far. Hopefully I can create good ones! (:

Have a great day, and continue to slay! x