Arthur's Cubicle

At midnight, James went back to the site of the explosion. He knew that there would be no emergency workers left that late. There would be no one left to grab his arm, look into his eyes with erroneous understanding and tell him that it wasn't safe. The last thing he needed right now was to be stopped and, even worse, to be pitied. 

He knew roughly where he was going. The building had only been one story, so it held mostly the same structure as when he'd been in it before. He still remembered the exact look that had come over Arthur's face when he arrived: that sly half smile that reached his eyes more than he intended. He'd reminded him of the s****y way his boss had treated him so far that week and informed him that over his lunch hour they were going to�" James stopped moving. He couldn't remember the name of the restaurant. He felt his eyes filling with tears. They'd been there at least half a dozen times, once with Lisa, but every other time just the two of them. He had no excuse for not remembering the place's name. 

Eventually, he began wading through the wreckage again, brandishing his flashlight like the gun of a bank robber who's just realized that he's in over his head. 

He wondered dimly how Arthur's family was doing. He'd been to their house for dinner once before. Though they'd only known each other for three weeks, Arthur had introduced James as his best friend. His family had prepared pot roast and boiled potatoes and asked him scores of questions about Montana, where he was from. After mentioning that he'd worked with horses on a ranch as a teenager, Arthur's ten year old sister Zoey never took her eyes off him. He recalled that those eyes had been strikingly similar to her brother's. 

He didn't see Arthur's family again after that night. Neither did Arthur. 

He'd finally come to what he was reasonably sure were the remains of Arthur's cubicle. It was in the desk. He knew it was. Arthur had told him that whenever he went to work he put it in his desk drawer and he'd never had the chance to bring it home from work. 

A support beam had fallen onto the desk, crushing it and forcing it into the floor. James kneeled down next to it, ignoring the pieces of metal, plaster and splintered wood from the desk that cut through the thin fabric of his thrift store jeans and into his flesh. He forced the drawer from the desk, pulled it into his lap and rummaged frantically through the charred papers until he found it. 

The dented engagement ring clasped in his dirty hand, he began to cry. 

Author's Note

feel free to be brutal as long as you're being constructive

Reviews

[~Anita Sandlin~]

What you have said here doesn't seem finished. Try making it longer and more detail about the relationship before the destruction.

[Shawn Pfister]

Very touching, very moving, very short. I would like to see this expanded a bit, it feels a bit rushed.

In the second paragraph, try "they were going to..." and then start "James stopped" as the next paragraph. It gives emphasis to the broken thought and the stopping. Also, you don't need the "moving" in that sentence, it's a bit redundant.

You seem to not be too sure how much destruction there is. Soemtimes it feels like a hollow shell of smouldering rubble and others it seems merely charred. 3 paragraphs from the bottom, he's "reasonably sure" it's Arthur's cubicle, implying it's a big pile of ash, but the desk is still there, relatively unscathed, which implies he knows fully that it's Arthur's cubicle. Try mentioning the cubicles, how all the personalities of the former occupants had been burned away, the knick knacks, pictures, etc. "It was probably this desk...or was it the next one over? James hoped it wasn't the next one over. There was nothing left to it. He couldn't bear the thought of even the ring being gone." For an example. I don't think the ring needs to be a secret to the end, just the engagement part.