Time's Up

A short story depicting the struggle of a man to achieve the American Dream in a modern world of stress and constant movement.

Time’s Up

By Justin Beall

 

Jack Samson - a young and handsome workingman - examined himself in the mirror. He could not find a single wrinkle upon his starched, dark suit. Tucked neatly into his coat, his grey and white-striped tie hung perfectly vertical upon his chest. He combed his hand through his meticulously groomed brown hair to make sure he’d used the correct amount of product, slipped on his freshly-polished shoes, and finally put on his large, black glasses. Thick and square, they looked like the kind handed out at a 3-D movie. Everything in his small, grey bedroom was militaristically arranged and clean - not a speck of dust in sight. Seeing that things were in order, he headed for his tiny yellow kitchen.

 Jack had a young, beautiful daughter. Shellie Samson was 6 years old - a bright girl with bright blue eyes and bright blonde hair - who had an affinity for floral dresses. He rushed down the stairs but found her blocking his path.

            “Daddy” she said with a smile, “Can we go play at the park today?”

            “No honey” he briskly replied, “Daddy has a business meeting today.”

            He continued on to the bright yellow kitchen that he’d always hated to be in. Food is time consuming, he thought as he grabbed his piece of daily toast and shoveled it into his mouth. His wife Sarah (who happened to look a lot like her daughter) stood in the kitchen wearing a floral apron, cooking pancakes and bacon.

            “Don’t you have time for breakfast?” she inquired, “You don’t have to be at work until 8 o’clock right?”

            “I’m going in early to get some reports done.” he explained, slightly annoyed, “I have to get that promotion. No time to talk, see you at 6.”

            And with that he rushed out of the door of his small grey apartment and into the vast grey city. The clouds above were dark and swollen with rain. He stood small among those great stone blocks we call buildings - those towering symbols of progress. This, here, was his true environment. I’ll own a big building one day, he thought as he admired the great cement columns. That’s the American dream, and I’ll have mine with enough work!

 He rushed to the nearest taxi, but it sped off with a full load of passengers. Swearing to himself, he scanned for the next taxi, but there were none in sight! Well, he thought, I've got some time. Off he went among the hordes of other cogs in the great American system, toward a dream of success and prosperity. Soon after departing, the rain began to drizzle and increased in intensity with each block he passed, until he was running toward his building completely soaked.

He swore to himself.

He arrived at the building cold and shivering. The secretary, Sarah, looked up from her magazine surprised. She was caked up with makeup, wore a bright pink suit, and her golden curly hair fell down her shoulders like a waterfall.

“Maybe you should go home and change” she advised, “you’re an hour early anyway.”

“No” Jack insisted as he jogged to the elevator, “I’ve got to maintain my dedication.”  

His day of work was cold, miserable, and tedious.

As she saw him enter the apartment, his wife was shocked by his pale-grayish complexion and loud sneezing.

“Honey, are you sick?” she asked.

“No I’m fine; I assure you” he replied, “I just need some sleep.”

Apparently he didn’t just need some sleep, because the next morning he found it difficult to move. But this would not stop the mighty Jack Samson! He strained to complete all of his morning tasks, and headed downstairs to shovel down his daily plain toast. He barely kept it down. His wife begged him to stay, but she could do nothing to stop him.

As he entered his building, Sarah stared at him with wide eyes.

“Jack, you look awful!” she exclaimed, “You have to go home!”

“No, I promise I’m just fine” he coughed, “I can work.”

Apparently he wasn't just fine, because he expelled his daily toast before he even reached the elevator. Sarah called a taxi for him, and he rode home, sorrowful and sick. As he lay in bed, dim light pouring through the slits in his blinds, he gazed at his prized possession on his night stand - the most advanced watch on the market. With over 200 alarm tones, a built in scientific calculator, stock market reports, a calendar, and internet capabilities, this was a businessman’s dream. This mechanism could be run over by a garbage truck, dumped in water, and covered in sand and would still operate perfectly. He grasped it.

 It gave him hope.

The next day he was less sick, less sick enough to work. He made it to his cubicle but found it hard to focus, despite all his will. He blamed himself. As the day was wrapping up, his boss - a strict, gray-haired man in an elegant Italian suit - asked to speak with him.

“Jack, something very important is happening tomorrow” he explained.

“What is that, sir?”

“Representatives from Glen Brothers are coming to talk about a buyout”

“A buyout?”

“Yes, we may own Glen Brothers within the next few days”

“That’s wonderful! A huge step for our company!”

“Certainly, which is why I want you to come early tomorrow and speak with the representatives to broker a deal. You’re my best employee, and I want to see how you work with responsibility. I warn you, though, do not fail me. I give you this responsibility as a token of my respect for your hard work. I have great things in mind for you, but only if you prove yourself worthy.”

“I most certainly will!” Jack joyfully exclaimed, and left for home.

When he arrived at his apartment, his wife and daughter were sitting on the sofa, looking very serious.

“Jack, we need to talk” said Susan.

“About what?”

“You never see us anymore!” shouted bright little Shellie.

“Now honey,” he explained “daddy is a very busy man who is working very hard for this family, and I’m just days away from a big promotion!”

“But darling,” Susan pleaded, “Money isn’t everything! You have to think about your family’s needs too.”

“After tomorrow, I assure you, we will have no more needs at all!”

“But sweetheart,” she said with watery eyes, “I miss the fun young man I married, the man who has now grown old and grey on the inside”

“And daddy, you used to play with me, I remember. We’d go to the park and everything would be bright and pretty and colorful. I wanna do it again!”

 

This continued for some time, until Jack grew irritable. 

 

“I’ve had enough of this”, he shouted, standing up. “You simply don’t appreciate what I do for this family!”

He swore to himself as he rushed up the stairs.

He rushed up to his room and got in bed; he was incredibly tired from his day at work. He pulled off his clothes, hurriedly brushed his teeth, and set that fancy alarm on his watch as fast as he could. That night, he dreamed of money and boats and buildings, all those big pretty things he would own day own. Everything was so tangible…

He awoke smiling and calm the next morning, ready for the day ahead. But something was wrong; light was shining through the slits in the blinds. No - he thought - God no! He jumped up and started hurling clothes from his drawers and combing through the contents of his closet, searching for that starched grey suit he loved so. His heart was beating fast. His wife looked concerned.

“Jack, you need to calm down!” she proclaimed. “Just talk for a minute!”

“Shut up!” he shouted maliciously while running down the stairs.

His daughter stood at the foot of the stairs, but he pushed her out of the way without giving her a chance to ask if they could go to the park.  

“TAXI!” he shouted to the vast grey jungle.

The nearest taxi stopped and let him in.

“Here’s $100 dollars, you will speed” he commanded.

And so the driver did.

Jack watched those tall towers of progress blend into the dark sky as the taxi wound in and out of traffic, committing all sorts of driving atrocities on its way. They arrived in record time. Removing himself from the taxi, he realized he had been brought to the wrong building! He stared up and read the sign: “Glen Brothers.” By the time he stepped out, the taxi was gone. I will not be deterred, he thought, and ran toward his building. He knew the meeting was already in progress.

With each block he passed his heart beat louder and faster, as a broken metronome will click on with increasing intensity until music is impossible to play. He swore and sweat; he pushed anyone out of his way without the slightest care for their well-being. His face grew red against his pallid visage of sickness, and the perspiration on his scalp washed away his daily hair dye. His glasses fell off of his face and cracked on the pavement, but he would not stop. Now he was in his true state of being - his eyes grew large and crazed; his tie flew freely in the wind; his disheveled hair shone brown and grey-specked in the stale, cloud-filtered sunlight.

Finally, he reached his building and ran inside. He ran by Sarah before she had time to say anything. He chose the stairs this time, jumping three at a time toward his meeting. He ran up six flights without a single break until he reached the floor of the meeting. He ran down the hall, dodging his fellow employees as he went, feeling more strained as he grew closer to the door. He promised himself he could make it. Jack Samson was a master of human will, you see. He grasped the door and prepared to enter.

He swore to himself.

No sooner than Jack had grabbed the handle, he fell to the floor, clutching his chest. On his arm his prized alarm watch began to scream, loud and piercing. It rang in his ears, filled his soul and mind and body until he felt it pulsing through his veins. He could take no more. He fell to the floor all quiet - his time was expired. His boss opened the door to find the source of the noise - a huge hindrance to his meeting - and found Jack on the floor. He bent down and turned off the alarm, called Sarah and commanded her to contact the proper authorities, and resumed his very important business meeting.

“It’s a shame.” he murmured, “He was valuable.”

The previous day, Jack Samson had set his alarm an hour late.

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

My first short story not written for a grade in class.

Reviews

[tremainiator]

Hi Justin. (Love your Holden Caulfield 'talking head' photo, by the way - so full of teenage angst. I remember.)

Enjoyed reading your story enough to finish it. From the point where "He awoke smiling and calm . . ." I began to think you had tricked us and JS was having a nightmare so that when I came to the ending and found it wasn't so I was a little let down. How would you feel about reworking what is currently the ending into a nightmare and giving it a new ending on an up note, say where he only dreams he wakes up late and loses his job and subsequently learns something about what's really important and what isn't? Your ending now is a non-ending. Did JS get fired, or what?

I agree with unexpectedsparkle about !!!'s but yours are all within quotes, in dialogue, which is the exception to that 'rule', the one place where they do work.

A few other points:

Specificity brings fiction to life: name the city where this story takes place and the neighborhood or street where they live. Give Jack's boss a name, etc.

Jack is not a 'workingman', he's a workaholic business man. Suits aren't starched, they're pressed. Ties don't get tucked anymore. Not 'militaristically arranged' but 'arranged with martial precision'. Not 'the kind they hand out in 3D movies' but 'like 3D glasses'. 'Jack had a young, beautiful daughter. Shellie Samson was 6 years old' reads better this way: 'Jack's beautiful young daughter Shellie was six.' Etc. 'She blocked his path as he tried to rush down the stairs.'

'No honey' should be 'No, honey'. You use 'bright three time to describe Shellie and then again in 'bright yellow kitchen,' also repeating 'yellow.' I like the repeat of bright describing Shellie but not again so soon after. I would delete the words 'bright yellow' and not substitute anything. ''. . . he'd always hated to be in'. Awkward. How about '. . . he loathed'?

It's unusual, don't you think, for modern women to wear aprons, especially floral ones. If you set Sarah up that way you could embroider a bit on this choice to portray her more fully, give her more depth. Your dressing her in a floral apron sets her up as a homemaker type. I don't think you should necessarily leave it out or change it - that's up to you. But if you leave it, it's an opportunity to make more of it. Also the fact that she is making bacon and pancakes is interesting. How many modern moms do that? Does yours? Who is she cooking for? Herself? (Is she thin or fleshly/) For Shellie? Not for Jack - she must know him better.

'. . .8 o'clock right' should read 'eight o'clock. Right?' It's my opinion that numbers, as in the time of day - eight o'clock - should be spelt out. It's easier to read.

'. . .out of the door' should be '. . . out the door'. Next sentence, delete 'above'. As to the rainclouds gathering, you should make something of the fact that JS forgot an umbrella and it's significant that he does not go back inside to get one. Why? Also, in the next lines, about the downtown urban setting, it's clear that Jack's apartment is right there so perhaps you could make that clear earlier.

'He stood small among those great stone blocks we call buildings - those towering symbols of progress. This, here, was his true environment. I’ll own a big building one day, he thought as he admired the great cement columns. That’s the American dream, and I’ll have mine with enough work!' (Here's one ! too many.) How about 'Jack stood minute in the midst of the great stone and glass monoliths, towering symbols of progress. This, this place was his element. I'll own one of these some day, he thought admiring the needle like columns. The American dream, and I'll have mine, too.'

'He rushed to the nearest taxi, but it sped off with a full load of passengers. Swearing to himself, he scanned for the next taxi, but there were none in sight! (Delete ! again.) Well, he thought, I've got some time. Off he went among the hordes of other cogs in the great American system, toward a dream of success and prosperity. Soon after departing, the rain began to drizzle and increased in intensity with each block he passed, until he was running toward his building completely soaked. He swore to himself.'
How about: 'All the taxis were full; none would stop. Rather than wait and with no deadline but the one imposed by his own driven personality, he lowered himself to mingle with the million footed manswarm and their wretched dreams of success and hoofed it to his office. Soon the drizzle turned to a deluge and Jack found himself drenched and running. He swore as he finally entered his building.'

I'm not going to take the time to finish but if you rewrite your story using what I've give you as a template for the rest of it you can turn it into something even better. Have confidence in yourself and your ability to write prose. This wasn't an easy thing to write and you did a good job.

[Jbeall5842]

Wow, what a review. Would I be correct in assuming you are or have been some sort of educator? I do appreciate your comments, you must have spent a good deal of time helping me out here. Some factors of the story, though, such as the repetition of "bright" and "floral apron" are intended to set the daughter and wife apart from their grey, business-minded husband and father. Though I do see why you believe I need a wider variety of words there. I am especially thankful for your comments regarding ways to make the story realistic - this is something I strive for in writing. Only, I feel as though this story should remain as organic and original as I can make it. I'll take your advice on rewriting paragraphs but I don't believe I should use your rewrites as templates - rather I imagine I should see why you think I should rewrite those paragraphs, and adjust as needed. But I think that's what you intended. Also, about the nightmare - no offense to those who utilize it as a literary tool - but I absolutely hate dream stories wherein the reader is unaware a dream is taking place. Besides, I feel as though Jack must die at the end in order for the meaning of the story to really take full effect; it's not exactly a happy ending, but not all stories end in such a way. Real life certainly doesn't. Thanks again for the review, this is actually the first story I've ever written so I'd be a fool to think it'd be perfect! I really appreciate the effort you put into this. But one thing - I've never read Catcher in the Rye - what is a talking head photo?

[tremainiator]

Everyone who wants to write ought to read Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger. Read it often throughout your life until you can't read anymore.
Why do you object to dream sequences?

Until you mentioned it just now, I hadn't noticed Jack died at the end. (Whose fault is that?) Now I see it - 'His time was expired.'
It's a lack luster presentation; bloodless. Perhaps the story should end, reworded, at that point.
Delete the words 'on his arm'. Where else would his watch be?
You could move '(But) he had set his alarm an hour late.' to after 'JS was a master of human will, you see. But he was human and had set his alarm an hour late.' Something like that.

Then 'It's a shame. He was valuable,' his boss muttered as he opened the door to find Jack on the floor. He (give the boss a name and use it here) commanded (told?) Sarah to contact the proper authorities (who? the police? 911?) and went back to his meeting. JS's number was up.' Something like that. What I've suggested isn't good enough but it's slightly better than what you wrote, I think. As written. what should (could?) be your ending is buried in the middle of the last paragraph.

I'm glad you took my comments in the right spirit. As to "bright" and "floral apron", my suggestion was to expand slightly, to make more of both these things (in as few words a possible).

By 'punishing' Jack with death you are playing God and being judgmental. Is someone in your family a workaholic, Justin?

If you look at your photo you will see that all there is is your face. You are a head. 'Talking Heads' is a term that used to be applied to TV newscasters. There was also a rock group with that moniker.

[Jbeall5842]

Play the part of God? Certainly not. I don't even claim adherence to any organized religion. Jack is a victim of his delusions; I don't want him to die - he isn't a bad person. His death isn't a punishment, it's a horrible accident. He treats his family poorly but never abuses them, and working hard is no sin. The real theme here is the fallacy of the American Dream, and it is for this theme that Jack is the martyr. Forgive me if I seemed arrogant enough to play the part of God, this was not my intention. Again, I appreciate your thorough analysis of my writing. It is the most helpful advice I've yet to receive. And I do think I will take up your suggestion for changing the final sentence of the story; it needs more strength.

[tremainiator]

This is a nice conversation we're having. I'm enjoying the exchange because you are thoughtful and a man of some convictions. I didn't think you intended to play God but I thought you might have inadvertently done so by putting Jack to death - which was the author's choice - and I wanted to raise the issue, no small matter in writing. Jack may be the victim of his delusions but we all are. (At what point do convictions become delusions? Are Republicans deluded?) If he treats his family poorly is that not a form of abuse? Neglect?
In addition to these thought on how you handled the theme of your story, if you have decided or decide to pursue writing you ought to take a year off between high school and university. Get some kind of a job and take a short creative writing course. Immerse yourself in reading and writing for a year. Join one or two creative writing groups where you can talk face to face with other young beginners and get their perspective and feedback. Then you'll know if it's for you.

Meanwhile, rewrite this story and then set it aside in a drawer and don't look at it again for at least a year. Begin another story and keep writing more stories, with lessons learned from this experience to bolster you.

Best of luck.

Tremainiator.

[Jbeall5842]

I've enjoyed speaking with you. Thanks again.

[unexpectedsparkle]

I like the meaning behind the story, but the story itself is too real, how often it happens, you know? So, story line is good.

However, in your writing, I feel like you use exclamation points too often. An exclamation point basically says "Look at me! Over here! I NEED you to look at this! This is important!" So, you're basically begging the reader to see your emotion. But you don't want to do that-you want to make the reader do that on your own. No begging.(:

[Jbeall5842]

Thanks for the advice! I mean, thanks for the advice. Haha! So, you say it is too real, I can't tell if that's a compliment or a constructive criticism. Either way I'm thankful for it!

[unexpectedsparkle]

by it's too real, I mean, it's really realistic. So, good.(:

[Jbeall5842]

Ah, thanks a lot!

[Laminators Dubai]

i like you note more than the story...

but the story was good too...
detailed, easy, like a side short story from newspaper...
thanks for sharing!
i enjoyed...

[Marie]

THis is a very good short story.
Time is too valuable to be hurried through...

[Jbeall5842]

Thanks for the review!