kaolin fire presents :: writing :: fiction

"OfficeHarmony.0"

words

3/2 F&C -- (a) band -- http://www.stwa.net/scrawl/viewtopic.php?p=267752

"You ever play any instruments?" Tense, terse, over the clicking of keys, fingers slamming occasionally on a stuck key of the habitually disrepaired human-interface device.

"No." Another melody fills in--scribbling of a pen on tablet; eyes focused forward on the screen, fooling the mind.

Echoes of a phone unanswered drift down the cubicle corridors. A news press runs a building over, shivering bass through the walls.

"I think my monitor's humming."

"Mmmhmm."

"You agree?"

The scritching stops, becomes a caffeine-tapping of thumb and forefinger against the thinly varnished pine desk. "Look. I'm fucking busy, okay?"

"Huh?"

"You keep interrupting me! I can't concentrate."

"Oh, uh, sorry. Shit, I lost what I was doing. What was I talking about?"

"Humming."

"Humming? Why would I be talking about--"

"Your monitor. How can you hold these conversations and not bother to follow them yourself?"

"Oh, I remember what I was working on! Thanks!"

"Sure."

Tapping fades back into scritching. In the new pseudo-silence, ears attune to the fan whirs of the four computers on the split desk.

The designer saves his work, and a red LED comes on--grinding, almost like coffee brewing; two gigs of a woman's smile fade from the screen onto his drive.

"Going across the street--get you anything?"

"Cap would be lovely."

"Size?"

"Large. Definitely large."

"Gotcha."

"Thanks."

Relieved to be by himself, the programmer lets his foot twitch against the carpet in rhythm to the light blinking on his phone, his mumbles raising to audible.

The monitor hums.

And he hums along.