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Another day, another...
Chris paused while he selected the right key.
The carpet outside his office smelled like boredom overlaid with floral scents; cleansers and the sweat of the woman who had spent last Monday afternoon scrubbing the stain out. His office key, jangling against the others on his key ring, travelled on autopilot to unlock the door. His eyes off-focus, staring at the nothing-in-particular right in front of his nose.
The offices around his were empty; too early for the madding throng to venture past their soy-skimmed lattes and enter the communal boredom of office-normality, of meeting after meeting where verbal masturbation stole time, sapped will and destroyed energy.
The door handle clicked as he pushed it down and he stepped into his office, swinging his laptop bag onto the desk with the nonchalance of well-experienced muscle memory.
Except it bounced back at him, hitting him hard on the hip.
His reverie broken, Chris looked to his hip, to the lap-top bag and, finally, up to the obstruction. There, on his desktop was a black cube. It glistened in the fluorescents of the office, shimmering slightly. Like the case of an iPod or any other piece of Apple gadget-porn. This shining black cube, just sitting on his desk.
It was about twelve inches to each vertex - he tried to do the mental arithmetic but got stuck when he tried to multiply 144 by 12; too early for even the simplest of mathematics. He glanced at the calculator directly below his computer screen, almost reached for it.
Chris laughed. Why was he even wondering what the cube's volume was anyway?
"Because I need to know how heavy it is," he spoke to the empty offices, surprised to hear his own voice.
He reached out to touch the cube but, as his fingers came close to its surface, he paused. He could feel it. Even without making contact, he could feel the energy thrumming through the cube. Like static electricity on a dry winter's day, ready to leap from any surface onto the tip of his finger. He shrugged and touched the cube, half expecting his fingers to spark as they recoiled from the shock.
But nothing happened. The cube was cool to the touch, smooth and solid. The energy he'd sensed wasn't nearly as strong once he'd made contact, however as soon as he lifted his fingers off, he could feel it once more, cycling a hair-breadth's away.
Chris looked over his shoulder. Still no-one in the office; alone with his conundrum.
He put his fingers on it again, meaning to push it away from him, but it didn't move, no matter how hard he tried. He balled his fist up and punched the cube. Hard. And immediately regretted it as the shockwaves travelled through his fingers, into his wrist and onwards up his forearm.
"Fuck!" he seethed in response.
He walked around his desk, viewing the cube from all angles. That shining, oily surface giving him no clue except reflection.
He sat in his office chair and swung his laptop bag onto his knee, hooking out the hardware to place in its habitual docking station.
"Ah well," Chris smiled, "Another day, another dollar."
The cube thrummed off to his left as his laptop binged a cheery 'good morning' at him.
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This Pod rates: 4.89 |
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