This morning I woke up only five minutes before my alarm went off, but it is actually the second day in a row that I slept well. I’m not going to jinx it by saying to much or celebrating two loudly. But two days in a row. Squee! Okay, on with the writing prompt.
Hmm. I like the character, but I don’t know what the story would be. Possibly something to do with the dead guy. But I can’t see the story yet. I do like the character though.
Wednesday, January 26th: He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His suit was seven years old and didn’t fit quite like it used to. He knew it wasn’t the suit’s fault. It had remained quietly in the back of his closet waiting to be called into service. He was the one who changed.
‘In so many ways,’ he thought, even as he shifted again.
The last time he wore the suit was when he walked out. He reached his breaking point and left. Everyone smiled and smirked, confident that he would be back. That he would return to the job. After all there was excitement in the job, skill in getting it right and the thrill of beating others to the finish. He had always been able to complete his assignments better, faster and more often than not under budget. He was a rock star of their world. No one thought he could leave the stage.
‘Or the money,’ he thought. They especially thought he wouldn’t be able to leave the money. Year after year they shoved buckets of it at him. Each year he got better, they just shoved bigger buckets. He had to admit, the money was enticing. It was in fact what kept him in place even after the thrill was gone. Then one morning he realized that he never got around to spending any of it.
He thought about it. Trips he would take, hobbies he would pick up expensive toys to indulge in. But they were fantasies. He didn’t have the time for trips and the only hobby he ended up having involved playing the stock market on the few rare moments he managed to snatch for non-work entertainment. While he lost some there, he was good enough at that game too that the piles of money kept increasing.
It was at the point that he realized that he never spent any of his money beyond the basics of living and had more than he would need for the rest of his life that he realized he was just building up an inheritance to leave to someone else. He looked at those in line to receive that inheritance and realized he didn’t actually like any of them very much. That was the day he walked out.
Later he sent his suits to the dry cleaners. He donated all but his favorite three to a charity and spent the last seven years indulging in anything that could be done without requiring the involvement of a suit.
It was only when the funeral notice came in, that he felt obliged to take the black one out of the back of the closet. It fit, but he knew it didn’t fit quite as well as it did when he left. It was a little tight in the waist and he could feel the jacket binding on his arms. Still, he may have felt compelled to attend the funeral, but he hadn’t liked the man well enough to shell out for a new suit. He planned to attend, pay his respects to the family and slip out, removing the suit again and returning to his post suit existence.
He tried to concentrate on the speeches being made by those invited to the front. They didn’t sound like the man he knew. They sounded like a glossier, more magnanimous version where all of the bad parts had been existed. As he listened he wondered if there had in fact been donations to charity or if that was something made up for the occasion. Personally he couldn’t imagine Franklin parting with a single penny unless it got him something he wanted. And even then, there would be resentment for the cost.
Ten til Midnight 