Risk

Martin Takes a Risk

The alarm, a splitting headache, and a body that was sore all over woke Martin up at the usual time the next morning. At least he was able to switch off the alarm, although even that movement was painful. Coffee and headache pills were immediately required. He flicked on the coffee maker, and headed straight for the shower.

With no stomach for breakfast, he just had the coffee and the painkillers, and headed out early for the subway. It was busier than usual because he was leaving slightly earlier, so he again had to stand. The hot shower had helped his aching muscles, and he had stretched enough of them when putting on his clothes that the pain had mostly subsided. The headache remained, due in no small part to guilt, he felt. Nothing more painful than a guilty conscience.

The train squealed and rumbled along underground all the way down to Eglinton, where it briefly surfaced to give them a look at the Mount Pleasant Cemetery, which was positively verdant in the early morning sunlight. Strange to think that such a beautiful place could serve such a sombre purpose. After the brief glimpse of daylight and greenery, the train turned its nose downward, and they descended once more into the dark.

The vision of the security guard opening the door, the blood springing onto his shirt, and then his limp collapse to the floor was one which he was not able to switch off. It had invaded his subconscious in dreams, and it played itself over and over in his mind whenever his concentration would wander for a second.

The world of crime had always seemed so glamorous and exciting when he read about all those detectives and villains, cops and robbers, shootings and car chases, interrogations and smart aleck replies. And the occasional innocent bystander getting killed just heightened the resolve to solve the case and get the bad guy. It was all so utterly divorced from the reality he now knew as to be absurd to him. He knew that he would never be able to read and enjoy another of those books again. That left westerns and war novels. And other stuff, surely. What else was out there?

The elevator door opened on the 46th floor, and he stood for a moment before he realized it was his floor. He caught the door as it was closing, it opened again, and he stepped out into the hallway to many a disgusted look from the crowd. No delays allowed! Anger welled up in him all of a sudden.

"Well, excuse the fuck out of me! So sorry you'll all be six seconds late for work!"

The people all looked shocked and horrified. Someone had spoken to them on an elevator! Two people quickly pressed the Door Close button to get away from this freak. The doors closed on the image of these harried nine-to-fivers looking worriedly at each other, as if noticing for the first time that there were other passengers in the car next to them.

Martin felt much better for having said this, and he walked into the office with a little more bounce in his step.

"Good morning, Janice."

"Good morning, Martin. How are you today?"

"Surviving."

"Oh, I hope your day gets better."

"Thanks."

He put his lunch in the fridge and poured himself another coffee, before walking over to the cube, setting down the coffee and removing his jacket. Preemptive good mornings all around, greeting Dave and Darlene before they greeted him, and warning Dave that he'd be babbling any second now. He switched on his computer and went right into his calendar for the word of the day:

Frondescent - (frond-e-sent) a. Springing into leaf; expanding into fronds.

"It was a beautiful spring day, and all the trees in the valley were frondescent in the bright sunshine."