At a Desk

July 5, 2024

A constant ticking clock bit into his ears, ever turning calendar pages sanded smooth the tips of his fingers. Once upon a time, life had been cool and clear below a bright clean sky. There was some sky outside, but the prison walls of a long dim room covered his view. The ceiling hung low with cobwebs and shadow over his desk.
Thoughts tried their way through his head, to pass in small ground grey piles. So he rubbed his eyes, looked up into the black and down to the scratchy carpet, back to the computer, and over the keyboard.
There were no quantity or arrangement of words to get him out, how many he had tried. Nowhere led anywhere, no depth or sincerity of hoping broke the deep thick fog.
It had been so long. The work sped up, and days into tops, casting dust across his face and into drifts over the wood of his desk.
So he leaned forward, squinted closer, and pressed harder. Every key tapped deadened the sound in the room, the color from his dreams and things.
No song lifted his heart, no place pulled his soul, no candle burned any color but black and grainy white.
“It has been a long time hasn’t it?”
He spun around at the voice, web flying from his brows, the chair rocked and fell with him, like a speeding car slamming to a stop.
“I, I have to go, got to get going or I’ll be late,” he responded dragging the chair back up. Sliding back into the seat his hands resumed dancing across the keyboard, his eyes moving from one moment to the next.
“Then let's go together, and if you’re not going I’m not going, but I am not leaving,” she cut through, sharp into his heart.
“I can’t get out of here, this deep curling pit,” he dared not turn, “go on, and don’t worry about me.”
“I’d rather sit where the summer glows.”
He paused, a rattly sigh through his throat, “there’s no summer here, not anymore. Not now.”
“There is only summer here.” With that she took hold of his hand and held tight. He couldn’t keep typing, so he turned to meet her eyes. A fire roared up from his heart and down into tears.
“Look at the sky,” she pointed to the window, deep blues flowing down in streams, brushing across his face. “Listen to the bird, it’s singing us a song today.” He thought he could hear a soft voice, a high sweet twisting melody in the air, it was crashing into his ears, the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.
“Look,” she said, and his gaze met hers as she smiled, “you’re not alone.”
He took a long breath in, and life filled his soul.