[Reading Time: 2 – 4 minutes]
Today would mark one week since Joe started coming to the church on 4th Street in the middle of the day. One week since his unceremonious termination at an impromptu lunch. Almost 25 years of service, countless weekends and canceled vacations; not so much as a thank you. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Arriving to the massive architecture promptly at 7 am that fateful morning. This was his usual. After another late night of editing and making sure everything was just perfect, Joe would rise early and beat the morning rush into the office. A cup of steaming hot black coffee in his left hand, briefcase bursting under his arm Joe would slide his company keycard watching the lights change from red to orange to green. Opening the door to Bob the security guard’s friendly smile, “Good morning, Mr. Martinelli.”
“Morning, Bob,” he would smile as he walked towards the elevator. His keycard safely clipped to his shirt, Joe pressed the button. The building was peaceful and the ding of the elevator arriving would echo in the foyer. Stepping inside he would press for the twenty-second floor. Planning his day as the elevator started its ascent, going over every detail of last night’s revisions already working them over in his mind. The lights on the numbers slowing climbing 10, 11, 12.
Characters and plot lines, romance, danger, suspense, always the same. Will the girl choose the good guy or the one with the bad boy image? Will the hero escape the seemingly inescapable peril he has gotten into, again? It was getting harder and harder to differentiate one work from another. Except for the one.
Joe almost couldn’t put it down. It spoke so clearly. No horror, no typical sameness that had become the publishing world as of late. This was real. Relatable. And it had been tossed aside like last night’s pizza. No one was interested in touching it.
Ding! The elevator doors opened and Joe stepped out in the dimly lit hallway. In the hustle and bustle of the day the eggshell colored walls would fill with the shadows of editors and their secretaries, writers, publicists, mail clerks, and salesmen. With the sun barely peeking through there was a sense of calm serenity. The eye of the storm where all is peaceful right before all hell breaks loose. Boy was that ever an understatement.
this writing prompt is part of 1000wordsmeme