The Birds

Be careful out there, kiddies

The musty drifts of stagnant air had the undeniable scent of death.        Throughout the halls of the Galegate Office Building, one thing was certain. Charles knew what it was, but he dared not speak of it - lest he find himself in a situation of utmost awkwardness and shifting eyes. It was something not to be spoken of, yet there was always a clinging premonition to surface it in the mind. Over the years, it had become a thing of taboo. It was foolish to spark conversation on the matter. It was absurd to let it scrap the insides of one's mind. Charles thought of it now.  He said to himself that he was not alone. Others surely had a fear of what he feared. Others had the keen sense for danger as he now possessed. That much, Charles knew to be fact.          The halls were painted white, although black in other ways; they were modest, but functional. They served the purpose of giving an illusion of normalcy and were quite effective in that. The building consisted of four floors in all. No elevators. No exits of hasting leave. The windows were old and covered in dirt. Vision to the outside world was skewed and it was purposeless to veer one's eyes beyond the glass - for the longing to be where sight lent its time was only a discernible place long after the sun would cease its showing. The building was separated by cubicle if not by wall, but the denizens of each floor were disconnected by more than just physical boundaries. The clattering of flesh on keyboard was constant. The ringing of telephones punctuated the otherwise normality of small-chat with no meaning. It was an office building. A place were people went to work. It did not hold the honor hosting careers; for no one grows up wanting to work in a cubicle. Instead, the Galegate Office Building was a cursed place. A place where people's hopes and dreams went to die. A hospice of the soul.        Hushed tones would speak of the dreary qualities of the building. It was cursed, said the whispers of gullible workers at the water fountain. The newspapers of town would often sprout names of those who had taken their life by jumping off the Galegate Office roof. People would brush it off as coincidence, as the general population often does at the first sight of something unexplainable. It was common, said the rational! People with nothing left to live for are likely to dot the sentence of their vitals! The office was a place of dread no matter how one would try to make sense of it. The blood of the freshly splattered would paint the concrete outside with a bright hue of reminiscence. Charles would walk out the door each evening and wonder to himself what was coursing through his veins. Even he could not grasp the unsightly image of one with nothing left to try.        The steel frames that held the building together were rusted with time. The entirety of the encompassing cinderblock was worn, but no one seemed to notice. The computers were outdated and the tile harbored mold. The seemingly quaint office building was a vacuum of all things; things which included atmosphere and peace of mind. The creases in the door frames added to the cracks on the workers' faces. The utter hopelessness that arose from the aroma of subtle sweat was staggering. The building was old and it was aged with all things expected of it, except it still was missing the unmistakable marks of wisdom. No one learned from their past mistakes in the Galegate Office Building. No one cared to remember past grievances. The grudges of existence were put aside to meet the unsatisfying requirements of livelihood. Thinking of it now, it feels right at home.

Edit

Charles was a humble worker. He showed up everyday to process his queue and rarely complained. The pay was decent and it was enough to keep the family within its means. The drive was not terribly long and the scenery along the way proved to be somewhat of a concession to the otherwise blandness of the building itself. In his youth, Charles would never think of leaving the office. How could he ever hope to achieve more with his useless life? He had no skill, very little education, and a disease of laziness that would require much medication to alleviate. He was content with his menial existence. It got him what he wanted out of life, he thought. A family, a house, a car - all things seemingly unobtainable without his job! However, things were different now. Charles wished to leave. He was older and still without an education. He had no new set of skills. His determination, however, had increased insurmountably.        The years were unkind to Charles. His wife would mock him when he came home where before she would praise him. His children were ungrateful and generally as worthless as he was. Charles was beginning to show wrinkles and his hair was speckled with gray. His voice was still young, mainly because he hardly ever used it and his expression was that of a numbing coldness. His chest was static even with breath and the motionlessness of his being would be akin to a corpse if not for his subtly beating heart. Charles had a disposition of stoic kindness. He would greet you with a nod coupled by the slight curvature of his lips. His smile produced heavy creases in all areas of his face except the eyes - for his expressions were not sincere. Charles was a dying man, but as legend has it - the brain is most active right before death. Charles was scared. He was scared of non-existence despite the fact that he was as close to death as humanly possible without actually loosing his pulse. He wanted to do something with himself. He wanted to make himself happy. He was too hesitant though, much too weak to make a decision.        Charles had his fair share of shortcomings. He would blame the harsh truth of his life on outside forces. He would constantly testify to the fact that he was not in control of his own life. It was his fate. He was destined to follow in the footsteps of so many others and he was doomed to feeling the accursed premonition of digging one's own grave. Charles was a worm to be fed upon. He was eager for the shortcuts in life, but he didn't realize that true success is not derived by shortchanging the system. Charles had a narrow mind. At work, he just wanted to be home and free of obligation - yet at home, all he longed to do was to be out stressing over a new project. He was indecisive and when he felt invigorated enough to make a definite choice, it usually was the wrong one. An endless stroke of bad-luck, one might think.        Charles sighed. Depression was an ugly thing and it creeped in from the corners of the mind to slowly surround the heart. An image of vines covering an abandoned and ancient countryside castle permeated inside the brain of Charles. He was miserable, but he was not without hope. Charles decided that he needed a breath of fresh air. He dragged his feet down the walkways of the building and pushed the only door to the exterior earth with a yearning indescribable. There, he was surprised at what he saw. A lone bird laid dead with wings sprawled outward, almost as if it had fallen mid-flight. Its innards were strewn across the pavement and it spread a very untimely reek about the air. Charles nearly gagged when he gazed upon it, but he had a slight chuckle at the thought that he was glad it wasn't a fellow co-worker he would have to scrape off the ground.        The garbage dump was near. It was large and often would hold all manner of trash. Somehow, though, it didn't seem fitting to Charles that the winged-beast should find its grave there. He looked upon the horizon and saw in the not-so-far distance a construction area. Apparently, there was working being done on the community road ahead. Charles walked over with a sense of apprehension and thanked Fortune for giving him a shovel. He returned to the downed bird and smiled; his nose had already adjusted to the malodor. He found himself having much courage when he picked up the dead animal by hand and carried it over to a grassy median. He began digging.        It was hard work; beads of intense sweat formed on the Charles's forehead. He was discomforted, but not to a degree that would stop him. Charles was happy. With the death of this bird, a new life for him would be born. This seemingly pointless act would be his turning point. He had made up his mind. Next week, he would quit and find himself something else. He was not going to let those pale halls suck the life from him. He would not die in that building. Charles took time to make sure the minimal dimensions were enough. He placed the bird within its newly-made encasement of gravel. He sealed the opening off with the dirt from which it was made and let out a breath of satisfaction. Relief overwhelmed Charles, he was now emancipated from his past. No longer restricted by mental chains. He walked back towards the door in order to finish the day's work. He was an honest man and would work as diligently as ever until his week was up. Before entering the building, he turned his eyes back upon the grave of the small bird, however, a new sight was beheld by him. Several other birds of the same cast now encircled the grave.          Charles was shocked at the sight. He was unaccustomed to such a viewing of nature. He was even more startled to find that the birds where all staring directly back at him, despite their flightpaths being around the overturned ground on the median several yards from where he stood. They soon perched on the trees surrounding the immediate area. Charles was drawn into their majesty as if they knew of his new breath. He walked with confidence back out to the grave with no purpose other than inquiry. He decided that he would just stay late if his work-load was considerably daunting. He found himself next to his fallen brother. He was rotating his frame constantly to make sure he noticed any movement that the birds would produce. They took flight and latched onto Charles. They lifted him into the air and Charles felt his sanity leave him at the impossibility of what was now occurring. He was flying.        Charles was unconcerned with everything tangible now. He was entirely focused on the surreal nature of his levitation. He was raised far above the office building and he wondered how exactly he would explain his absence. The birds all carelessly lifted him into the heavens as if thanking him for the kind respect he had shown their crestfallen kin. It felt like hours that Charles was aloft in the clouds above the clouds. He was beginning to wonder if he would ever return to the ground. Just then, the birds lowered him. They set him on a course to the roof of the building. Charles was still in disbelief at the situation; his smile was genuine and sincere. He thought to himself on the likelihood that he could repeat the day's adventure, but alas his hopes were cut short.        The birds dropped Charles prematurely. He plummeted downwards summersaulting in the air with confusion and betrayal filling his heart. The birds had deceived him he thought, seconds before his frozen disposition was shattered onto the asphalt of the parking-lot. His skull had been eviscerated and his frail body was imploded. The blood reached as far as the second story of the building and all of Charles's co-workers were distraught with his suicide.

Author's Note

Please tell me your initial reaction to the ending of this piece and how it made you feel.