The Late Birds' Call

This is an extension on the concepts presented in "A Day In Limbo," condensed and, hopefully, polished a bit.

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The Late Birds’ Call

He releases the beige pillow clutched to his breast and prepares for productivity.
He slurps porridge while late birds sleep.
The traffic oozes.

His cubicle leers.
Colorful propaganda peers over his flickering monitor.
The paper stack moves from one beige tray to the other without challenge.
His coworkers congregate to drink flat sodas and argue candidates in their cubicles.
The peanut butter sandwich clots his mouth.
He gags silently.

Time slithers by.
No colorful propaganda urges at the polls.
The beige ballot warmly instructs him in how to properly fill a circle.
The evening newscaster reports the election went as anticipated: a landslide win.
He chose correctly; he won the game.
The propaganda worked.

He makes a choice.

He calls Zoe.
The numbers are familiar as he dials.
She wears a fluffy yellow pullover with an embroidered sparrow, the colors radiating.
They huddle together as colors and shapes dance seductively on the silver screen.
The film’s din fades to distant thrumming.
He feels alive.

His mind seethes.
He tries to pluck up the courage.
He walks Zoe to her glossy, crimson car, his mind churning like butter.
There is a moment’s throbbing pause; his burning gut screams to dare it.
She pecks him abruptly, breaking his paralyzation.
Her colors fade.

Home seems empty.
Outside, he hears the late birds’ call.
He clutches the beige pillow tight to his breast and dreams of choosing.

A Day in Limbo

I'm very pleased with how this came out. It was written as something to include in the college's New Tricks 2011 magazine, as well as something to potentially read aloud.

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A Day in Limbo

A man awakens.
The sun shines brightly in his eyes.
He lets go of the beige pillow he had held to his breast.

He eats breakfast.
He takes a hot shower and dresses.
He prepares for another day of work sitting in a sterile, beige cubicle.

He feels comfortable.
The weather is calm and mild today.
Lawn mowers growl and beige birds chirp as he gets into his sedan.

He works easily.
None of his duties really challenge him.
The paper stack moves from one beige tray to the other without issue.

It’s lunch time.
He unpacks his PJ sandwich and water.
A beige-shirted coworker chats about the weather, sports, and his favorite candidate.

Work is over.
He punches out at five to vote.
The beige ballot warmly instructs him how to properly fill in a circle.

He returns home.
He sits at the television with beer.
He sips the beige liquid and sees his candidate lost by a landslide.

He’s feeling lonesome.
He decides to take Sam out tonight.
He picks up the beige receiver and invites Sam to the local cinema.

Sam arrives late.
The two hurry in to get seats.
The flashing images cast twisted shadows across the beige seats that surround them.

It’s soon over.
He can’t recall much on second thought.
The two leave the beige-brick theater and walk to Sam’s car together.

His blood boils.
He tries to pluck up the courage.
He is suddenly pecked on the cheek and Sam’s beige car rumbles off.

He walks inside.
The evening has crept into his home.
He undresses and crawls into bed, hugging the beige pillow to his breast.