Free CLANK: A Book of Madness (Psychological Satire Novel) Unsettled Office Worker Loses the Last Screw by Draven Madpen

Go Fish! It’s a paycheck… My legs are in need of a good
stretching so I hop out of the chair and venture out into the hallway. I walk
over to the stairs where upon I hear the familiar lumbering noises of our
resident water jug man: Todd Storton. He’s toting four jugs up the stairs as a
young office woman trails behind. She would like to pass but the gargantuan
blob of fat which Storton calls a body is preventing her from doing so. He
turns slightly and says what I accurately believe to be an obviously dimwitted
comment (the only kind he ever has). The girl smiles politely. A fake smile.
You can always tell by the cheeks. No lines in the eyes. Once they finally
ascend the stairs -- the woman practically sprints past him. Water jug tubby
stares at her fleeing figure. Storton then looks at me with a sinister smile.
    “I almost had her. She was this close from giving me her number.”
    “Yeah, it looked that way,” I
lie.
    “Later on, I can give you a
few of them woman tips, boy. Maybe you can get a girl one day like ol’ Storton
here does.”
    Idiot.
    “Yeah, you’re really reeling
them in, aren’t you tubby?”
    “What?”
    He’s sneering at me, as if to
say I dare you to repeat that, pipsqueak.
    “I said you’ll make a fine
hubby, you corpulent cad, you.”
    He smiles in agreement.
    “Do ya think so?”
    I nod, laughing on the inside
at his blatant, pitiful stupidity, so easily swayed…
     

13
     
    The unthinkable has occurred…
It’s nearing lunchtime and I’ve already run out of inspiration! Natasha’s face
consumes my mind. I close my eyes… it’s there. I open my eyes… it’s there. The
portrait of my grandmother setting on the desk morphs into Natasha’s face as I look
at it. That lovely visage begins popping up all over the office, filling the
room. They’re appearing like heavenly angels all around me. Each one is looking
at me with a lustful smile. I can’t help but wonder if I’m going insane.
Another one and another one and another one… Another!
    A quotidian sound breaks the
trance, suddenly diverting my mind from the hallucinations and most assuredly,
the very imminent panic attack. Wilmer’s door is slightly ajar. It’s time! The
noise is emanating from his room. No! No! Not today! Although here, the
distinct sound of his desk drawer being pulled open -- a dull scratching caused
by the one uneven side which rubs against the wood. I look at the clock. 12:45.
Lunchtime. Fear and dread fills my chest, running through my body like a jolt
of electricity… But the abrupt shot of panic soon dissipates and I’m calm once
again, comforted by the fact that it was only yesterday when I so expertly dispatched of Wilmer’s prized glass bowl. This ensured there’d be no more clanking. What
is there to harm me today? He’s probably brought a sack lunch from home. It’s
reasonable enough to think so. Maybe he picked up fast-food on his way to work.
I don’t know. What I do know is I can be positive the glass bowl is not in his desk drawer. Unless the demon item is some sort of revenant.
Reincarnated from the shattered bits, returned to exact its revenge. In that
case I’m dead either way and my mind is at ease once more. Or so I’d like to
believe.
    There are no further sounds
coming from his room. A minute passes. The eerie silence unsettles me. Why is
it so quiet? What can he possibly be doing? Another minute passes. Nothing. At
this point I’d do almost anything to hear a noise. The silence is maddening.
    A sharp clapping effect breaks
the hush. It’s the well-known sound of Mr. Cromwell’s personal microwave
shutting. A few beeps tell me he’s entering in a time -- a moment later
the hum of the machine kicks on, filling this dreaded silence. He’s reheating
his lunch? Yeah, that’s viable. One hundred and twenty seconds go by. The dull
hum ceases, I can surmise that Wilmer has opened the microwave to extract the
contents. My mind remains at ease. There is no need worry.