Time’s up. Are you even ready?
“The hell does that even mean?” Tom thought as he stared at the bathroom wall graffiti. There, amongst the crude language and off color jokes, someone had written the phrase in red ink.
“Had to be a programmer.” He murmured as he traced his fingers over the neat handwriting. It was too nice to have been written by any low-level grunt. Yet, it still was written on a bathroom wall. Must be a programmer.
Tom’s watch beeped, pulling him out of his mindless stare. Nine-thirty. Already, he had wasted an hour and a half by just sitting in the stall. No one ever asked where he had gone. Everyone in the office hated it there just as much as he did. The same amount of work would be there when he got back. Slowly, he rose off the toilet, grabbed his paper and pushed through the stall door.
*Crack*
“You awake there buddy?”
“Must be ten-twenty.” Tom replied as he reached for the new stack of papers in his tray. Every morning, at ten-twenty, new work would arrive, and every morning it seemed, Tom’s boss would catch him staring at a screen saver. It used to bother him whenever he would be caught day-dreaming, but now it just became part of the routine.
By noon, Tom had gone through three cups of stale coffee. Somehow, his inbox was still just as full as when to whittle down the stack. Fifteen more minutes until lunch. It was the same thing every day. At quarter past the hour, he’d take his sandwich, apple and pudding and go listen to the same three co-workers fake their enthusiasm about a distant project. They’d inevitably turn to politics and start a heated discussion about a topic that each knew little about. As the minute hand finally lurched onto the three, Tom picked up his bag and walked downstairs.
“So how do you feel about it Tom?”
His co-worker’s voice broke his train of thought.
“Feel about what?”
As the previous argument was being re-explained to him, Tom thought back to earlier in the morning in the stall. Time’s up. Somewhere deep in his memory, he had heard the phrase before. “May be it was from a movie.” he figured as the worker’s rant came to a close.
“…and that’s why stem cells should be allowed. Don’t you agree Tom?”
Before he could even reply, the lady on his right launched her view on the subject. Tom bit into his apple as the quarreling continued. Are you ready? The words ran through his head as he looked for a meaning.
“You coming with us Tom or are you going to sit there all day?”
The lunchroom had cleared. “One o’clock” Tom mumbled as he hurried to throw away the remains of his lunch.
Four bell chimes sounded across the office. Two o’clock.
“Three more hours until home.” Tom said to his computer screen. The last three hours were always the worst. By now, the morning’s work had either been completed or filed away for another day. He couldn’t even start on tomorrow’s work because his boss was inevitably at some meeting. After last weeks talk about employees leaving early, no one attempted to swipe out before five.
Two-fifteen. His fingernails were too long.
Two-twenty-five. All of his pens needed reorganizing,
Three-ten. There were one hundred- thirty seven staples in the stapler.
Three-fifty. Twenty-nine ceiling tiles needed repair.
Four-nineteen. The bathroom stall had no new graffiti.
Finally, the clock struck four-fifty. The office buzzed as people readied themselves for the drive home. Tom looked outside as his computer powered down. It was raining. “Should be a long drive home.” He commented as he turned off his screen.
It was seven-thirty by the time Tom arrived home. There had been two accidents along the way. One was a simple fender-bender, but the other, both cars were totaled. Despite the ambulances that blocked the road, four long black bags lay next to the burned-out cars. Tom just stared as the rain sizzled off the hot metal.
At eight, Tom grabbed a pre-made dinner and rushed over to his recliner. For the next hour, he could just sit and relax, zoned out while contestants shouted answers on the tv.
“Time’s up. Are you ready?”
The phrase snapped Tom back to reality.
Tom didn’t even wait for the contestant’s response as he grabbed his coat. Every night had been the same routine. Tonight, it was time for something new.
The sidewalk was still wet from the rain as Tom hurriedly splashed down the street. Even though he had no destination in mind, his pace was quick.
“If I walk long enough, I’ll find whatever it is I’m looking for.” He mused to himself.
Turning down street after street, Tom became lost in his thoughts. For as long as he could remember, he had been working in the same office, day after day. It seemed like only a month ago that he had set up his cubicle with little knick-knacks and photos. There he was, still young, with plans of advancing in a fast-growing company. Back then, he had goals, a vision of how life was going to be in five, ten, twenty years.
Yet, it seemed that each passing year saw others being promoted ahead of him. People who he knew worked less and knew far too little were advancing while he remained where he was. Slowly, his work ethic began morphing into something he never thought it would. Tom stopped as he stared into the dark street. It wasn’t just work he quit caring about. It was life itself.
“Don’t turn around, or I’ll shoot you.”
Tom’s insides turned to ice as he felt a barrel pressed into his back. The assailant’s next words were jibberish to him as his mind began to race. While he slowly reached for his wallet, a thought that had been bothering him for years screamed in his head.
“It’s never too late to start over.”
As Tom moved to hand over his wallet, the robber lowered the gun to his side. Before he could even think twice, Tom grabbed for the gun. The two began to tussle as the wallet fell to the ground. Suddenly, the gun went off. Both men stood still. The would-be robber slowly looked down at the growing red stain on his shirt. As Tom pulled away, the man fell to the ground.
Terrified, Tom looked around. The shot hadn’t attracted anyone and the street was deserted. Panic began to set in. What if someone came up right then? They would surely blame him for the murder. Scrambling for his wallet, Tom jammed the gun into his pocket, his mind numb, and tore off for home.
The door slammed behind him as Tom entered his house. He had just killed a man. The blood was still on his shirt. He paced back and forth in his living room for an hour. The clock’s chimes brought him back to his senses. He had to clean up, of this he was sure. He watched too much CSI to know that all they had to do was match the blood from the body to that on his shirt to find him guilty of murder. He barely had time to remove his pants when the doorbell rang.
Tom ran to the door, still in his boxers. Through the peephole, he could see the figure of a man standing outside. The breath inside of him stopped in his throat as he looked at the man’s clothes. It was a cop. The doorbell rang again as Tom rushed to the bathroom. Throwing the bloody clothes under some towels, he shouted a reply to the door. With fresh clothes, he slowly walked to the door. With one hand, he unlocked the deadbolt, the other cocked the gun.
“I found your license in the street.”
Tom was too scared to reply. Somehow, his license must have fallen out when the robber dropped his wallet.
“You alright?”
Tom could barely speak, his voice cracking as he replied.
“Yea, yea. Everything, yea. Everything’s fine.”
Tom’s eyes darted down to the officer’s gun.
“You mind if I come in and look around?”
Tom stepped away from the door as the policeman walked through.
“Sir, what do you have beh-“
Before the officer could finish, Tom drew his gun from behind his back and fired. The cop fell to his knees clutching his stomach. Keeping the gun trained on the fallen man, Tom screamed.
“It wasn’t my fault! He tried to rob me! I had to shoot him!”
The officer writhed on the floor, still holding the deep red stain on his shirt.
Outside, the cop’s radio sounded.
“Unit 9, respond. Come in unit 9.”
Tom slammed the door and locked it. Methodically, he began turning off all the lights and shutting the shades. The cop lay on the floor, breathing heavily.
“This isn’t my fault!” Tom screamed to the dying man.
Outside, the sound of sirens grew closer. Tom paced around his front room, running his hands through his hair. How did his life come to this? He was just about to change everything. His life was going to turn around. Why did this have to happen now?
Tom jumped as his phone rang. With a shaky hand, he slowly lifted the receiver.
“Tom? This is officer McBrady. We heard some shots from in the house Tom. Is everyone ok?”
“I never meant to shoot him.” Tom whispered. “He was going to shoot me, so I grabbed the gun. It’s not my fault.”
“Never meant to shoot who Tom?”
Tom looked around him at the lights flashing off of the blinds. It was all his fault. All his life, he had let it come to this. At every turn, he had let others take his promotions. Instead of going back to school and earning the title, he just let it get worse and worse, blaming others for his failure.
“Tom? I need to know; is everything ok in there?”
Nothing was ok. He had let everything go. All of those times he had said he was going to change, those were lies. There was never going to be anything more to life than what lay in front of him day after day. Deep down, he didn’t want to change.
“I’m not getting any response chief.”
Tom looked at the man lying on the floor. All his indecision, his frustration, his inability to change; it had led to this. Two men’s lives taken all because he was too scared to change.
“Time’s up. Are you ready?”
Tom lifted the gun to his head.
“I am.”
