literature

Timing is Everything

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Literature Text

“Uh, Barbara? What’s this thing on my desk?”
“Oh, just some cute little countdown timer. Somebody brought it in earlier,” replied my secretary.

Hmm…

“Um, Barbara? Did they happen to mention what it was for?”
“Come to think of it, no. Is there a note?”
“No…who brought it in?”
“The delivery man, of course. Just get back to work and don’t worry about it. I’ll see if I can figure it out,” Barbara always was a go-getter.

The timer was at 2:55:03 after that exchange. According to it, I had wasted almost 5 minutes. I opened up the speech I was writing for an upcoming meeting, but kept getting distracted by the countdown. It was a little digital box, with the timer counting down on the front. Besides that, though, there were no distinguishing marks. Just a black, plastic box.

Reluctantly getting back to work, my speech took longer than normal to bang out. By the time I was done the timer read 1:58:42. Almost an hour wasted. With a chuckle, I considered the possibility of it being a bomb timer. But, even as I was laughing this idea away, a tiny shimmer of paranoia had been planted.

“Err, Barbara? Who delivered the timer?”
“Oh, you know, just a USPS guy.”
“Nothing unusual?”
“No, of course not. Now keep up the work on that presentation.”
“Right, right, of course. Nothing to worry about.”

I opened PowerPoint, and presentation-ed away. Back in my groove, I was done with the whole thing at 1:31:40. I decided to go out for some lunch, told Barbara to hold my calls, and drove down to Quizno’s. I decided to eat there, and took my time. The meeting this afternoon could make or break me, and I didn’t want to look hurried.

When I got back to my office, I noticed a USPS guy delivering a similar timer to some of the other executives on my floor. Hmm…

I sat down at 1:03:59, and started editing everything I had done before lunch. I was obviously running out of time, how could I have taken so long for lunch? Cursing myself, I hurriedly revised sentences, fixed spelling mistakes, and double-checked numbers. I glanced at the timer again, and it was already at 0:47:31. Crap. I needed some caffeine, bad. I really needed some caffeine, right then. I surveyed the path to the coffee maker, made sure it was clear, and bolted out of my office, almost kicking down the door. I body checked a subordinate into the wall, grabbed the whole coffee maker, and ran back to my office, and plugged it in.

Drip, drip, drip. Hurry, coffee, hurry! The timer ticked off every second, every minute that I waited. Hurry, please! After much steaming, dripping, and filtering, the coffee was done. Drink! I drained the pot, and started making more.

“Arr! Barbara! How much longer ‘til the meeting?”
“…arr?”
“Yes, arr! It’s a manly noise!”
“Sir, no offense, but you seem a little high-strung.”
“Just waiting for coffee to finish! Quick! Meeting! How long?”
“The meeting starts at 6:00. It’s 2:30 right now.”

I saw the timer out of the corner of my eye, and realized she was lying to me. It was 0:42:13. Note: don’t trust her anymore. Don’t trust anyone.

Barbara came into my office to check on me at 0:13:37. I had spent the last 30 minutes staring at the timer, sitting in a corner, waiting to pounce.

“Sir, what are you doing? And what’s that on your face?!”

She obviously meant the war paint I had fashioned out of ink and coffee grounds.

“Stay back, Barbara! I’m going to ambush it!”
“It, sir?”

I pointed at the timer with my spear I made out of whiteboard markers, stuck end-to-end.

“Sir…it’s a timer. I’ll take it away if you want. Why don’t you go wash up, and get your shirt back on, and get ready for the meeting. I’ll check over your speech and presentation for you.”

She reached to pick the timer off the desk, and a staple flew across the room, hitting her in the arm.

“Stay back!” I yelled, holding the stapler out in front of me. “I’m not afraid to use this! That timer…is a bomb! It’s linked to all the other bombs in this building! If you touch it, we’re all doomed!”

Barbara slowly backed out of the room, and I re-loaded my stapler, ready to liberate the building. First things first, though: my timer was the master timer! If I destroyed it, I could safely destroy the others, too.

I looked around for a place to dispose of it, and then I saw my only option. My window didn’t open, because I was on the 23rd floor, but it was merely glass. Using all my strength, I hurled the timer against the glass. The glass shattered, sending shards flying 230 feet to the ground. Yes! Yes! I watched as the timer gradually lost horizontal momentum, and gained vertical speed. It smashed into a car 23 stories below, and dented the car badly. But, to my horror, the timer survived.

I ran into the hallway, screaming, filling innocent interns with staples, spearing secretaries with my lance, and generally kicking heads in. I found one of the offices where the timers had been delivered, busted the door down, and tackled the man sitting at the desk.

“WHERE IS IT?!”
“What the hell?! Get off me!”
“WHERE’S THE TIMER!?”
“The timer?! There! On the desk!”

I learned my lesson with the last one, and this one I made sure would die. I ran into the break room, shoved it into the dishwasher, and turned it on, laughing like a maniac. The deed done, I rushed off to find the others.

Crash! Another office door down, another timer found. I put this one in the door, and slammed it shut until the timer stopped timing.

Suddenly, I heard shouting from the other end of the office. Had my fellow workers risen up to assist me? I looked, and saw, to my horror, cops, with guns drawn. Custer’s Last Stand.

I dropped my stapler and spear, and broke the leg off an oak desk. The cops still hadn’t spotted me, so I still had the element of surprise. Workers were being filed out of the office, and soon it would be just them and me. But first things first: I had to get the last timer.

I found the office before the cops found me. I set the timer on the ground and, impressing even myself, managed to drive the table leg right through it. It spewed wiring and plastic through the fatal wound, and, when I raised my weapon, it had turned from a staff into a club.

The first cop found me, rushed into the room, and caught my makeshift mace upside the head. The cop crumpled, the timer shattered, and my job was done. All that was left now was to escape. I grabbed the fallen cop’s nightstick, and ran into the hall. I was greeted by several bullets, whizzing by and shattering the floor-to-ceiling window behind me. I met the next cop, smashed his ribs with the nightstick, and slammed the heel of my hand into his nose. He hit the ground hard, blood covering his face.

“MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN!”

The rest of the group found me pretty quickly, but I was ready. One swung his nightstick at my head; I dodged, grabbed his arm, and broke it at the elbow. The next drew his gun; I grabbed it and flipped him over my back, into his comrades. One of the remaining cops managed to get his pepper spray out; as he raised it, I ducked, pulled out my lighter, and ignited the stream, lighting the final cop’s hair on fire. He screamed, and passed out from the heat and pain.

I looked around at the damage I had done. 7 cops incapacitated, massive property damage, and countless lives endangered. But the timers were gone.

Or so I thought.

Beep…
Beep…
Beep…
This was a rather quick write, and it ended up being suprisingly long. It needs a lot of editing, though, it's nowhere near the quality that I'd like.

A few things to mention, though.

First off, this was inspired by a few things, but mostly this journal entry. The entire time I was writing this, I arranged my windows so I could see the timer. Which is why it's so long, quickly written, and sloppy, I think. An interesting experament.

Slight Spoilers I'd suggest reading the story before reading this.
There's several different "stages" that the narrator goes through. He starts out as a regular, slightly-confused bussinessman, starts feeling rushed, then paranoid, snaps and goes on a rampage, and then, his goal completed, becomes a focused warrior.

It's probably not overly-clear in my writing, because I'm not great at doing emotions like that.

EDIT Just a few tweaks. Nothing big.
© 2005 - 2024 overduegalaxy
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shway250's avatar
haha nice, I like it. alot of your stories seem to end in that fashion though. not sayin its a bad thing