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Tomorrow’s Friday


Harry Buschman

(contest entry for flash fiction involving the 'prompt' word 'SILENCE'. Limit 200 words.)

He leaned back a bit and looked to the left. There they were, he could see them at the end of the corridor - the office manager and two sales engineers. He was sure they were talking about him. It was Thursday afternoon and tomorrow they would post another layoff.

“Well, you survived the other layoffs, didn’t you? All twelve of them - maybe he’d get away again this time. Think positive,” he told himself, “but don’t count on it, you know how tough things are.” Best thing would be to put in a full day, make sure there was nothing in his in-basket when he left and make sure he didn’t walk around with a hang dog expression like all the others.

He wished he could read their lips. They walked down the corridor, and paused behind him. The silence was deafening. He worked as steadily and efficiently as he knew how. Finally they moved on - only then did he realize his hands were trembling and he had a terrible urge to relieve his bladder. But to do that he’d have to pass them in the corridor. God almighty ... he couldn’t do that ... they’d remember that tomorrow.

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