International Writers Magazine: Dreamscapes
Tara L Clark
'This is no big
deal.' Jerry mumbled to himself while clutching his briefcase and
rocking from his toes to his heels. He had just fourteen floors.
Fourteen floors to think about how hed get himself out of
the situation that he had just recently put himself in. His mind
spoke to him. Someone else was using your computer. Thats
all. That is a perfectly fine excuse. Surprisingly, it took
Jerry more than two seconds to remember that he lived and worked
out of his own apartment. He had no employees, and he had only rented
the apartment one week prior.
Sarah, had moved to Manchester eight months ago to pursue her career
as an Advertising Executive. Jerry hadnt thought about developing
a property in Manchester before but the prospect had recently become
a more promising investment. Living closer to Sarah for a while was
an added bonus. But quite obviously, of course, Jerry hadnt been
faithful to Sarah. After all, they had decided on a long engagement,
so settling down together was some time away yet, and Sarah was so busy
with her new job that visiting each other had become quite rare for
'This is it. This is the end.' Jerry spoke to himself again. It was
indeed the end. For as he reached the tenth floor Jerrys
erotically explicit email had become available to Sarah, whose internet
connection had been playing her up for some hours. And as she opened
it, Jerry shuddered. Not because the lift he was traveling in had heard
his subconscious cries for help and broken down in order to postpone
his imminent death, but because he believed Sarah was trampling over
his grave - hypothetically of course.
He had three floors to go. Still he hadnt conjured up a decent
explanation. But he had asked himself the obvious question, 'Why are
you here! Why are you coming to confront her?! Of course shell
have read the email; she spends half her day on a computer!' He didnt
have an answer to his own question however. He knew he hadnt even
the time to think about it. Any how, he was already in the lift and
heading for her floor. Hed have to get to the thirteenth floor,
wait for the doors to open, wait for the doors to close again, and hope
that Sarah wasnt racing him to the bottom via the stairs.
'Floor thirteen.' The lift said to him.
With any luck she wont have read the email yet. He
thought to himself. I can go to her office, ask her to grab me
a coffee from the canteen, log onto her computer and delete the email.
What Jerry didnt take into consideration was that Sarah was undoubtedly
a workaholic. Not to mention the fact that if Jerry were to ever ask
Sarah to do anything that he couldnt do himself shed certainly
tell him to politely 'Fuck off'.
He reached her office door. 'Shes in there. Just knock.' The secretarys
squeaky voice said from behind him. 'Thank you.' He said nervously.
He knocked the door. There was no answer. Maybe she went home ill and
her secretary is just retarded, he hoped. 'Hold on a minute.' A voice
from behind the office door shouted. Sarah was in the office. He took
a deep breath and entered the room.
'What the hell, I told you
'Oh.' Jerry said quite abruptly, while his girlfriend picked her bra
up off of her computer and wrapped her blouse around her breasts. 'Sorry.'
Jerry said, as a sweaty, muscular man zipped up his trousers.
Jerry walked out of Sarahs office. He glanced at the squeaky secretary.
'Goodbye Sara.' Jerry croaked to her. She looks far too pleased with
herself, he thought. Jerry headed toward the lift and pressed the button.
Shall I pass that email on, Jerry? Or was that one meant for someone
Jerry could hear her desperation to burst into laughter. For some reason,
Jerry chose now to think about how he wished his fiancé and her
secretary didnt share the same name. It annoyed him that he couldnt
ignore the image he got of her every time he said the name Sarah when
in bed with his fiancé. He wanted to ignore it. Now, he thought,
as the doors to the lift opened, I definitely can.
He walked into the lift and pressed Ground Floor. He had
fourteen floors to wait. All the time in the world.
Clark April 2008
Tara is studying Creative Writing at the University of Portsmouth
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