A Truth truer than fiction.

A spattering of conversation breaks out around the office. A soft breeze of inane wittering is gently circulated by the quietly humming of the air conditioning. Tim keeps his eyes fixed steadfastly to his monitor, the fear of having to feign interest keeps him from deviating from his task, to force a weak smile in the direction of some humourless anecdote would be more than he could bear. The monotonous rhythm of his morning's assignment becomes his mantra, a hypnotic refuge in his head. A Lear jet flies past his window, faster than the regular old prop planes that normally pass by. His fingers keep working, but his mind is drifting, back to his youth sitting by a stream between the scout hut and the railway station in the village where he grew up. The afternoon sun is bright and warm, possibly it is the summer holidays. He is alone, the stream is babbling, the birds are singing. He must be about 12 years old, although it is hard to tell. Tim remembers it well because at that moment all those years ago he was, for maybe the only time in his whole life, really content. In a moment of near rapture he had a realisation he was completely free of any responsibility, that the naivety of youth was one of the most precious and enlightening. It was as if, knowing that puberty lay over the crest of a hill, Tim stopped to take one last look back on the countryside of his childhood and despite some unhappy times, the sight had been more marvellous than he could possibly of imagined, the sheer simplicity of it was over whelming and with a foresight that must of been instinctive he knew this was a moment he must remember as it would never be repeated.

"You alright Tim?"

The direct attack on his senses forced Tim's mind forward to the present day.

"You seem a bit quiet this morning."

A reply seemed necessary, Tim wanted to say "Fuck off and leave me alone, it is Monday morning and I hate this fucking job, I hate all of you, you're a bunch of fucking cunts!"

"I'm fine thanks." was all that he could manage.

He looked at his screen, he had carried on working, but had no memory of what he had done. Had he made any mistakes? Like looking back at your footprints in the snow to assure yourself you have come from where you thought you came from Tim scanned the figures on the screen. Everything looked in order, he didn't really care anyway, if there were any problems they would be picked up later , before any harm was done. He took a gulp of strong coffee. The conversations around him continued.

"Ere Babs, you 'member that top I bought last year?"
"Yeah"
"Well, you know it was a bit tight? Look at it now it's all loose"

"Well cheap clothes will stretch like that." Tim thought.

"Ooh, you must've lost some weight, Jo."

"Lost some weight? That's a laugh." Tim mused, Joanna was a big girl who seemed to Tim to be constantly eating, favouring a full stomach over a full head. Tim tuned the vacuous conversation out of his mind and retreated back to the sanctity of his head and took another sip of coffee. Looking at his computer screen he realised that he had nearly finished the mundane job he was doing, his eyes flicked to the little clock in the bottom right of his monitor. He was working to fast, if he finished this he would have to take on some other pointless process. In an effort to prolong the inevitable, he switch to programs to the word processor and began typing, a short pointless story about nothing. With his mind absorbed he quickly lost track of time until a wave of paranoia swept over him. He hadn't been at it too long of that he was sure, was his boss aware he was not working? He stole a glance around the office, his boss did not look happy, but unless he had some sort of spying device on Tim's computer... maybe he did, surely that sort of technology was quite feasible... The wave of paranoia passed. Tim looked at what he had written and then looked out his window. Two trains the other side of the river were heading towards each other, Tim imagined them to be on the same piece of track, but they passed each other effortlessly, he looked back at his screen, the story wasn't going anywhere fast, so he decided to get back to work, the coffee was kicking in now. He decided to send the story off to his blog, he quickly changed the names to avoid any unpleasantness, although the likelihood of anyone reading it was virtually nil. Put it in an e-mail and sent it off...