The Cubicle

The Cubicle

Everyone had gathered around Mark’s cubicle. The throng of people naturally drew my attention; I just had to see what was going on. There he sat, face down on his desk. His blood spilling off the laminate surface and onto the cheaply carpeted floor. The florescent lighting overhead threw an even sicker pallor onto his middle-aged corpse.

I could hear the ladies whisper to one another, gasping in shock. One even had the dramatic flair as to faint. The office manager was on the phone, calling for the police, pleading with them to hurry. Turning his attention to the cubicle, Jeff told us not to touch anything; it was a crime scene. The gaping neck wound would probably hint that it was a homicide.

I couldn’t understand why everyone was so upset. I mean, really, no one liked the guy. He was rude, a complete misogynist. I was doing them a favor. Or at least, myself a favor. I made sure he’d never grab my ass again. Now…where should I hide the knife?

Word Count: 175