Static Mirror Part 1

         A raving lunatic sat upon the ground, verbally assaulting the ears of all within his near proximity. To any glancing ear not partaking in the verbal vomit, the world might merely be ending in a number of insidious ways. To any who might take a gander on the doomsday notifications, the words might perhaps be rather hilarious. What is a better way to feel like one’s life is far superior than viewing man lacking both heart and hearth, one who seems trapped in the drugs that seemingly set him free? What the listener may not realize is that we are all stuck in the same cycle but with drugs by any other name. One girl, who felt herself wizened beyond her years and her thoughts purer than most, pitied the man and his significant lack of clothing. Every day for the past half year, she filled his cup with silver and copper toned currencies, the coins clicking gracefully against his cracked chalice.
         Despite seeing him on a frequent basis, she never truly took the time to understand him. To her, this man was just another point of normalcy on her daily walk to work. What was once an oddity was now blossoming into a fixation of ever present screaming in her mind’s eye. She wanted to know his name, what he did when he wasn’t blaring random obscenities to the open sky, and most importantly, how he got to where he was. Yet she never took the time to approach him other than spending her spare change to support whatever strange habit he likely partook in. This man, with his translucent skin, eyes as brown as the flush, and face bearded with pinecones, somehow had an oddly intelligent look about him. The strange mixture was terrifying to her, and she did not know what to expect. As with any young and marginally attractive women, she was careful with how she approached men, lest anything be a fault of her own.
         One day when she had an interview for a promotion against the stereotypical office everyman. She was dressed in her most tasteful attire, which of course consisted of the nondescript pantsuit ensemble in a stark navy blue with a ruffled white shirt. Her cinnamon brown curls were tied up loose bun with just enough hair free to still be considered a tier below the stereotype of office bitch but still pretty. Her eyes were a pale machine grey of someone who is used to hiding behind a neutral expression, but secretly holds too much pain from their earlier years. As she dug into her purse for her spare change from the day before, she thought nothing as she went to drop them in his outreached hand without a glance. She barely noticed that Robert, as she dubbed him in her own mind, was not using his usual colorful vocabulary skills to shout at everyone about how the dinosaurs will come back and murder us all. Instead, he merely said a polite thank you, followed by a curt use of her own name: Pearl Leigh McCann.
          Abruptly, she stopped in her tracks, barely able to keep herself upright. Her biggest fear was ruining her affordable but still presentable outfit. But his voice, generally incomprehensible as lucid as a fever dream, was now as enunciated as a two-year-old told to say please. Now she was faced with the idea that her Robert was more than just a street lamp, but a man capable of thought and human emotion. This shattered her confidence she had been born with that morning by the mere change in her own day. Something was telling her to walk away before he said more, to completely change her walking route. Something sinister was rolling off his breath that she could taste within her own mouth. It was then that she realized her homeless man was now inches within her flesh. A peculiar smile sneered around his broken teeth as he was staring at her. His voice was silken when he spoke with words pouring off of his tongue in perfectly delicious drips. After a brief period of silence that lasted eternally, he said, “Did you mother not teach you any manners child?”
          “Sorry…sir. Um, I mean thank you?” she replied hastily, rather unsure of herself at that exact moment, her confidence deflating like a punctured balloon. She wondered why now of all days he had to speak to her.
         “Today, you will receive what you wish most in life in this eclipse of time.,” her Robert went on to proclaim, “You will break through and bleed, but your desire will be fulfilled.” He glanced at his cup and moved it briefly from side to side, as if to tell Pearl she owed him for his prophesizing to her. Unable to help herself she pulled out a dollar bill and hastily placed it within the confines of the ceramic. She feared that if she did not do his minor bidding, then she may somehow be cursed. As fast as the moment had begun, the clouds covered his eyes once more, taking with it his mind. Strangely, a new calm settled over her and she started back on her trek to work.
         Despite leaving later than usual after getting ready, Pearl was somehow earlier than normal. The air was filled with an overused surface cleaner vaguely reminiscent of cheap bleach. It was somehow prevalent but remained mostly anonymous like the secretary that had been there since days of yore. Without barely a glance at the unfortunate Glenda Evans and her sad attempt at making her face look younger with too much powder, Pearl went to the bathroom to freshen herself up before the big moment. Her biggest dream was to become the CEO of her company despite lacking certain masculine credentials. She had all but forgotten about what Robert had breathed on her face and made herself to appear more confident than she actually was, but not too much so. At exactly nine am, she made her way to the office of the ever-shrinking Mr. Oswald Smalls, a name fitting for a man of his physique. He was a dour old man and was past a sensible retirement. In every sense, he was the perfect office manager: grouchy and well hated. With his yellowed teeth and rotten breath, Mr. Smalls announced, “Miss Pearl McCann, Mr. Daniel Edwards, please do come in.”
         Daniel went into the office first with his rightful entitlement of having been at the office longer than Pearl. At 43, he was long overdue for a promotion, but had started this career later on in life. Since joining the office twelve years ago, he had fought hard enough over the last donuts and bits of office cake to morph into another slightly pudgy drone. His hair was peaked in a bold way to ensure everyone noticed his balding scalp. A sidelong glance from both him and their boss told Pearl all she needed to know. She was only selected as a candidate for show. At no point in time had a female in the entire history of this company been promoted to more than an extra personal assistant for the head honcho. Pearl was barely able to stop a soft sigh from escaping her lips before sitting down in the creaky leather chair. Lo and behold, the smile upon Mr. Smalls face was one of distinct disdain for her. Again, he rose to speak, the man of the hour, the day, and the year, “Edwards, McCann, I think we both know why we are in here. While you have both put in a number of wonderful years with this company-"
         A rough gasp escaped from Daniel, with his hand going straight to his throat. He suddenly dropped down to the floor, his life quickly surrendering to whatever lies beyond. One brief word escaped his breath: granted. It was heard only to the ears of those that paid. Before the ambulance could be called, Edwards grew completely devoid of life. Without a second glance at Pearl, Smalls continued where he left off, “He would have made a great office manager in my retirement, but now he is deceased. That man should have laid off the donuts and cake. Tsk. So, my dear, that leaves only one proper candidate for this role, which unfortunately has to be you. It would be most improper to select someone else in a time of such a sudden demise. Congratulations Miss McCann, you are the new top dog in this office. The party will be held -ahem- at noon after this body is taken care of.”
         She left without any words of gratitude, too shocked over the loss of a life that was just standing before her moments ago. Particularly unnerving was the severe callousness of Mr. Smalls. Perhaps he had seen a lot of loss in his previous employ in whatever the past war was that he was old enough to have fought. Despite Daniel’s steadily growing lethargy and hours wasted on mountains of paperwork, there didn’t seem to be any reason for his silent demise. A quick shiver ran down her spine when she remembered the words of Robert a few short hours ago: you will receive what you wish most in life, and something about bleeding. Had she truly wished for the death of her office nemesis or had she only desired the promotion? The question of her own self-righteousness was too large a struggle for her, bringing her to quickly decide on the latter.
         The party in the break room was nothing lavish. In fact, a stale smell of cigarettes from previous decades was still somehow fresher than the cake that had been made for the person of honor. Everyone was called from their cubicles for half an hour to acknowledge the change of power. All eyes were demanded at attention as Mr. Smalls gave a trivial speech about his many years here and how he was going to play golf for the rest of his days. He made a brief joke about how his wife would be happy to finally see him after all these years. An even smaller mention about how Edwards was now beyond his mortal coil was glanced over, but nothing more. No one really cared, as he was simply another worker with drudgery to be done. Now that he was dead, there was even more piles of paper divvied up among the already overworked employees. The rest of the day went by in a haze of monotony until precisely five o’clock, when she was allowed to leave half an hour early to celebrate. On her walk home, she avoided the corner were Robert was inhabiting, as to clear her mind from the tragedy of the day. She refused to see him again until she had convinced herself that she alone had deserved the promotion despite the uncanny semblance of the day.