The Late Birds' Call

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

---

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.