Chapter 1: A Typical Monday

The phone clattered onto the wooden floor and the noise drove like a spike into my head. You would think that after being a semi-functioning adult for a few years now I would learn how to wake up like a normal person and not flail around wildly when the alarm went off, but apparently my waking brain was primitive and ignorant. I considered for a moment just keeping my face in the pillow and pretending that every staccato beat was some sort of new age spa music and techno dance hybrid, though the desire to be able to feed and clothe myself felt a bit more important than getting a bit more sleep. With a groan, I pushed up into a sitting position and fished the phone off the floor with my long and nimble toes. It was a party trick I sometimes showed off when I either had one too many drinks or forgot how dorky it seemed to have as a special talent. It took a solid thirty seconds for my brain to condense my thoughts enough to remember which way to slide the button on the clock app to stop the sound, though perhaps I should have kept letting it ring for a while because as soon as it stopped the temptation returned to simply go back to sleep, safe in the knowledge it wouldn't interrupt me again until the emergency alarm went off in another half hour. It was a bad day to pull my classic roll out of bed and straight to work so I resisted and began to fumble around the side table for my glasses. It was one of the days where I was required to go into the office and pretend that I enjoyed working in a busy building with everyone else gossiping and having a great time. I never quite understood why so many people seemed excited to have to get fully dressed, commute, and be forced to stay in a building for eight or nine hours of their day, only to then commute back and lose out on a bunch of time that they could be using for hobbies or entertainment, but I supposed it was a preference that starkly separated the extroverts from the introverts. No one would ever mistake me for an extrovert.

It was a struggle to find a professional outfit that was actually clean and much to my dismay it was a green ruffled blouse with sleeves so tight around the wrists it felt like the buttons were going to pop off if I moved my arms too quickly. Not only was green my least favorite color, but it was a partially offensive shade of olive green, something that you would expect to see at the bottom of a particularly mediocre matcha latte. Every time I wore it and checked my reflection it made my skin look pale with a slight yellow tinge like my liver was barely hanging on. The worst part about it was I had bought the blouse knowing I would hate it, but it was a hundred percent silk and the thrift shop had so generously marked it as only ten bucks so in my mind that had meant I'd been losing money on such a great deal. At least I had been right in the sense that after coming home and searching the brand name online it was likely originally sold for at least two hundred dollars, but that really didn't seem to matter now that it was relegated to the very bottom of the closet for dire laundry emergencies only. I did my best to pair it with a pair of chocolate brown slacks and pulled my hair back into a loose bun tied with a brown ribbon. The brown would somewhat bring out the blue in my eyes and hopefully that would offset the unsettling hue cast over my face. Checking the time, I had a moment before I absolutely had to fly out the door and used it to throw all the dirty laundry on the floor of my bedroom onto the bed. There was a slight chance that it would work to force me to do a load or two when I got back home. I was feeling particularly optimistic given the number of times this exact tactic had failed and it all ended up back on the floor as I shoved it away and crawled into bed.

Last thing to do before leaving was to slip on my comfortable, yet just fancy enough to be work appropriate, flats and throw on enough makeup in the bathroom mirror to make myself look put together. A tired mid-twenties woman stared back at me with light brown hair that leaned towards ochre, eyebrows that I'm sure society would say needed a pluck, and features that wouldn't make people feel sorry for her on the street, but definitely would never make the front of a magazine. My face was still youthful, but already there were tiny lines forming at the corners of my eyes that I kept hoping would eventually start to fade. I had been stubborn for far too long about the possibility that I might have needed glasses and insisted that I was just fine squinting to read anything fine print. Kind of a terrible idea in hindsight given my entire job was staring at small fonts on a computer screen. It had taken a friend pointing out that my constant headaches probably had to do with the fact that I was perpetually squinting to get me to go in and get it checked. I hated to admit it because it made me the only one in my family to need glasses and despite finally being able to see, my brother still had yet to stop calling me "Squinty."

My makeup collection was fairly extensive for someone who couldn't be bothered to wear any most of the time. There was just something about all the colors and packaging that drew me in. It was like when I passed art supplies in the store, I started seeing all the potential there could be and all the videos I binged watched late at night with people spending hours on elaborate, dramatic, and generally impractical looks made me want to express myself. Unfortunately I rarely had the time or patience to try any of them and I didn't think work would appreciate me coming in with giant pink, winged eyeliner and a dramatic gold smokey eye. I supposed I could take the time to do something fun on the days I worked from home, but really there seemed to be little point to it then when no one would really get to see it. Despite having fancy pallets that cost more money than I liked to linger on thinking about, I neglected to buy decent brushes so I had perfected the art of using my fingers to smudge and blend everything into place. Today was a quick swipe of metallic gold across the lid and dark brown smudged under the lower lashes kind of day, skipping the liner and mascara because the idea of having to deal with sticky lashes felt particularly unappealing. For similar reasons I also skipped the foundation step and instead tapped on some coral blush onto my cheeks and lightly on the tip of my nose and followed it with a few swipes of a glittery highlighter that probably just skirted the edge of "professional."

I closed up all the products and wiped my hands on the towel, but just as I looked up to check one last time I was met with a reflection that instead of my relatively demure makeup look was me with a full face of elegant and dramatic makeup. I let out a gasp of confusion, but as soon as I blinked it was gone. I stood staring at my reflection, looking over my face over and over trying to make sure it was unchanged. Obviously I had micro-slept and dreamed or maybe the lack of a full night's sleep had caused a temporary hallucination. I had been up pretty late scrolling mindlessly on my phone, maybe it was just catching up to me, but my stomach felt uneasy about how real it had felt. It didn't feel like something that was just imagined, I could still clearly remember exactly how it looked and it was a static image, not something I could easily re-imagine as a different color and style. Maybe it was a function of the rabbit holes of human interest stories I often fell into, but I couldn't help but have a nagging fear that maybe I was at the cusp of some sort of mental breakdown or it was an emerging symptom of an emerging mental illness. At least I had to be leaving and didn't have time to dwell on what had just happened, though the image stuck with me as I locked my apartment door and made the elevator journey down to street level.

By the time I rounded the corner of the street to my favorite coffee shop I felt marginally better. I had managed to convince myself that the most logical explanation was obviously a mixture of sleep deprivation and mass media combining to make me see things. It seemed reasonable since I had experienced the weird "shadow people" in the corner of my eyes when I pulled one too many late nights in college, though I did have to admit that it was never something so in my face and striking before. Of course, it had been extra stressful at work and sleep had been harder to find because of it, maybe it was all just a product of the stress. Whatever the root cause was, once the latte was in my hand the shock and worry started to be muted. Even with just the short walk from the coffee shop to the office was enough time to convince myself everything would be fine and I probably just needed to take the weekend and dedicate it to catching back up on sleep.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"Sophia," the guard at the door nodded towards me and held the door open to allow me to pass without having to scan my badge in.

"Thanks, Carl," I greeted with a smile. "How are you this morning?"

"Tired as always," he laughed, "the baby was fussy last night."

Carl was a middle aged man a bit on the portly side, though after seeing him rush down the hallway when someone called for security I knew he was not necessarily out of shape. The gray at the very edge of his temples was subtly encroaching on his dark hair, though it only seemed to enhance the inherent gray in his hazel eyes. Carl was one of the few people I felt comfortable around and not just tolerable because I was forced into workplace relationships with. It might have seemed odd that a young woman with no kids would get along best with the older guy with several kids, but it was hard not to get along with the guy and seek out his company for social entertainment. It was obvious why he was content in his position as the security greeter for the front of the office, charisma was his forte and he just had a calming presence about him. I couldn't imagine anyone getting belligerent or violent with him, even if he was kicking them out or barring them from entry. Some people just have a gift for knowing exactly what to say and how to say it to make everyone relax and put on a smile and Carl was able to effortlessly exercise that gift.

Over my few years of working at the company we had gotten to know each other fairly well, our lunches often overlapped and we would exchange random, often pointless conversations that meandered anywhere from the weather to deep philosophical questions, though usually our conversations centered around his large family. Carl and his wife had six children, the last three unplanned, which led to a lot of good natured joking with people explaining to him regularly just how babies were made. The last baby had just been born a few months ago and though unplanned, he thoroughly enjoyed gushing about the little milestones and development of his daughter's personality.

"I think that's been your reply every time I've asked since she was born."

"That's having a baby in the house for you."

"Have you ever not had one in the house?"

Carl let out a low laugh and gave me a friendly squeeze on the shoulder. "Very brief points in time where I actually felt rested."

"I better get to my desk before someone finds it empty, I'll see you at lunch?" I asked with a smile.

"Wouldn't miss it."

Once inside, my mood instantly dropped again as I prepared to face another day at the grindstone. Everyone was on edge in the accounting department since we were being federally audited for last year's taxes. We had a looming deadline and a massive amount of financial statements to go through and analyze and numbers to crunch. Unfortunately, the manager that had been in charge of the digital organization of records had been on maternity leave during the end of tax season last year and no one had considered that maybe someone should have delegated out her responsibilities or at least have told her it was never done when she got back three months later. The files were out there in the system, somewhere, but where a good portion of them were or what they were named was anyone's guess. We were all taking grueling shifts shifting through repositories and haphazardly-organized personnel drives to piece it all together. The really scary part of the whole fiasco is that we weren't a hundred percent certain how many documents there were in total. We have a pretty good estimate of how many should exist, but if even one was missing it could mean the hammer could come down from the feds.If the hammer came down and the corporation ended up in hot water then pretty much all of us would be out of a job. The smarter of us were already polishing up our old resumes and putting feelers out for potential job openings, the smartest and most worried were already setting up interviews for closer to when the deadline passed. I was currently on the fence about if I wanted to set up any interviews just yet, though I had spent a little time adding to my resume on my breaks just in case.

"Hey Sam," I greeted once I got to my desk.

I hadn't actually seen that Sam was in over the cubicle wall that separated my desk from her's, but it was usually a safe bet that she was there. I couldn't recall a time when she hadn't been there for a day in the office and she was very invested in her career. While I was content being a mid-level accountant who could mindlessly crunch numbers all day and then mentally check out from work as soon as my shift was over, Sam had big dreams of becoming at the very least a manager and maybe head of the whole accounting division one day. It was a very lofty goal, but she was certainly putting in the extra effort and hours to get noticed the next time a position a step up from hers was opened.

"Good morning, how are you today?" She peeked her head over the top of the divider, her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. In typical fashion, her makeup was subtle and very work friendly, highlighting her best facial features.I always envied how clear and even her skin was, like the smooth reflection of a highly polished tigereye.

"Same leftovers, new week," I chirped while pressing the power button to my work computer. The fan inside whirled to life with a wheeze, already struggling to prevent overheating despite the fact I hadn't turned it on since last week. Only the best for employees trying to keep the company out of financial ruin and the executives out of white collar prison.

"Haven't heard that one before," she said with a polite chuff. Her lips then drew into a concerned line and her eyebrows downturned. "Are you feeling alright?"

I let out a long sigh through my nose and nodded. "I'm fine"

"Alright, well back to it then. Have a good day." She did not look one bit convinced. The curse of the blouse continued.

"Mhmm" I mumbled as she ducked back down, the clacking of her typing quickly followed..

I finished the rest of my latte while I waited for the ancient technology to decide to let me log in for the day, but the monitor was coming up black, not just not turning on, but lighting up and displaying nothing. At this point in my time with the company I was not surprised in the least and knew to always pack the laptop they gave me for home use. The brick always weighed me down on my walk in, but it seemed like I needed it at least fifty percent of the time. It also wheezed to life, but after a couple minutes it displayed the login screen and I could get to work. There was little point in calling down to IT to get them to come have a look at the desktop, by the time they actually got around to coming up it would be time for me to go home.

Checking the schedule for the day, I was put on "document recovery" first, which was the managers' veiled way of telling us to troll the drives for the missing documents. I wasn't thrilled at the idea of spending the next four hours until lunch scanning documents thoroughly, but as quickly as I could and marking them off the spreadsheet, but it was a convenient way of getting out of any additional work someone came by to give me. We were under strict instructions not to deviate away from time we were scheduled for the recovery mission, it was looking all too likely it would end up being impossible to view every single file the company had produced for the past year. Though I could have told them that, I probably deserved some kind of raise or promotion if those currently at the helm couldn't have recognized that fact on their own.

The minutes ticked away and suddenly it had become hours, my eyes burning from staring without having a break and all the numbers ceasing to have any meaning to me, numerically or financially. It had all just become a mish mash, alien language that I had been forced to stare at and try to understand. I hadn't even managed to find more than a handful of relevant documents out of the hundreds I had scanned through. It truly was trying to find a needle in a haystack.

I must have been so engrossed that I had missed my bodily signals or ignored them, because when I stood up to stretch, I was hit with the overwhelming feeling that I was going to pee my pants right then and there. I shuffled as quickly as I could towards the bathroom without doing the classic "little kid gotta go waddle" and barely made it to a stall without having to have a very embarrassing conversation with my manager about why I should probably be allowed to go home early.

When I came out of the stall and began to wash my hands, another woman I sometimes saw in passing around the office was already washing her hands in the sink. She turned her head and gave me a polite smile and murmur of a greeting, but I stood there like an idiot, eyes wide, because her reflection had the audacity to not turn its head too.