Member-only story
Ben’s Last Hour
“Ah-CHOO!”
5:00. Just a bit longer, then I’m free.
Someone walked into my peripheral vision. “I’m sorry, Ben, but I must warn you that if you do that again, you’re going to have to fill out the form.”
I glanced up at Walsh, his jet-black hair and piercing black eyes as serious as ever. Crap. Most of my Friday had gone so well, too.
“Do what?” I asked. “I’m working. What are you talking about?”
His gray Armani suit, crisp sky-blue shirt, and blazing red tie screamed at me that he wasn’t joking. He never joked.
An obnoxious itch in my nose suddenly overtook my confusion on the list of important things to consider at that moment. In seconds, the itch developed into a fluttering whirlwind of air, causing me to wheeze, and the cacophony of a millennium-sized sneeze blew my face right off my head.
At least that’s what these monstrous sneezes always feel like. Second one in the last thirty seconds. *sniff*
Walsh had already left my cubicle. As he strode down the carpeted corridor to his desk, I reached for a Kleenex and blew heartily. When I was done he returned with a small sheaf of paper in a pristine yellow folder, dropping it on my desk. I’m surprised he didn’t squirt…
