Under the Rug It had all started on a quite reasonably nice day. The sun was out, the birds chirping, the sky such a beautiful light blue. The clouds were Mr. Richter’s favorite, though. They always had been. He always thought they looked like cotton candy. Thick, melty, sugary cotton candy was his favorite. He often dreamed about it while he was away at work, his least favorite thing. He worked in an office, which is already terrifying enough. He was walking home from work that day, briefcase in his right hand, discarded jacket in his left. He was staring up at the sky, daydreaming, when, quite suddenly, something hit him. It hit him quite hard, too. “Oof!” he managed out after the bike hit him smack dab in the gut. “Oh, my goodness!”
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His tired eyes searched the rug on the floor of the living room. He spent an hour standing on that couch studying the ground all around him looking for something, anything. Mr. Richter did not sleep in his bed that night, but rather the couch he fell asleep on.
The next day, Mr. Richter cautiously stepped from the couch and got ready for the day staring at the floor. Richter spent an especially mind-numbing day at the office on this day. It wasn’t a good day, and it wasn’t a bad day either. It was just a very, very boring day. Which is almost worse than a bad day. To make matters worse, the perfect weather that had been here the last few days had been replaced by rain clouds.
Richter wore his jacket today, and he held his briefcase in his left hand because his right was preoccupied with holding the umbrella. This small change felt so foreign in his grip.
He didn’t realize he was looking for Angela until he found her. She was running towards him. She was rushed. There was a panicked look on her face. This couldn’t have been good.
“Mr. Richter! Mr. Richter!” she yelled, trying desperately to get his attention.
He did one of those awkward walk-jogs toward her, eventually meeting her in the
His tired eyes searched the rug on the floor of the living room. He spent an hour standing on that couch studying the ground all around him looking for something, anything. Mr. Richter did not sleep in his bed that night, but rather the couch he fell asleep on.
The next day, Mr. Richter cautiously stepped from the couch and got ready for the day staring at the floor. Richter spent an especially mind-numbing day at the office on this day. It wasn’t a good day, and it wasn’t a bad day either. It was just a very, very boring day. Which is almost worse than a bad day. To make matters worse, the perfect weather that had been here the last few days had been replaced by rain clouds.
Richter wore his jacket today, and he held his briefcase in his left hand because his right was preoccupied with holding the umbrella. This small change felt so foreign in his grip.
He didn’t realize he was looking for Angela until he found her. She was running towards him. She was rushed. There was a panicked look on her face. This couldn’t have been good.
“Mr. Richter! Mr. Richter!” she yelled, trying desperately to get his attention.
He did one of those awkward walk-jogs toward her, eventually meeting her in the