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Tomorrow’s Friday
by
Harry Buschman
(contest entry for flash fiction involving the 'prompt' word 'SILENCE'. Limit 200 words.)
He leaned back a bit and looked to the left. There they were, he could
see them at the end of the corridor - the office manager and two sales
engineers. He was sure they were talking about him. It was Thursday
afternoon and tomorrow they would post another layoff.
“Well, you survived the other layoffs, didn’t you? All twelve of them -
maybe he’d get away again this time. Think positive,” he told himself,
“but don’t count on it, you know how tough things are.” Best thing
would be to put in a full day, make sure there was nothing in his in-basket
when he left and make sure he didn’t walk around with a hang dog
expression like all the others.
He wished he could read their lips. They walked down the corridor, and
paused behind him. The silence was deafening. He worked as steadily and
efficiently as he knew how. Finally they moved on - only then did he
realize his hands were trembling and he had a terrible urge to relieve
his bladder. But to do that he’d have to pass them in the corridor. God
almighty ... he couldn’t do that ... they’d remember that tomorrow.
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