Michael Tanner woke up, yawned, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes with a groan. It was 7:00 on a Monday morning. His clock had broken the other day, so no alarm rang, but after years of working the same warehouse job, it had become almost impossible to not rise at this time. He kissed his wife's matted hair, but was careful not to wake her; she had recently gotten into the habit of sleeping late. Of course, it always seemed as if nothing could wake her; Michael had once banged pots and pans right next to her ear, just as a joke of course, but she didn’t even twitch.
He sighed and began dressing himself, slipping into his worn work uniform. A familiar stench of must and lubricant emanated from the clothing, sticking to his nostrils like bubbling tar. However, he detected another smell, a strangely unnerving combination of iron and rot. Michael shivered violently, even as the thick fabric of his uniform caused him to sweat. After a few seconds spent in this sudden stupor, he finally composed himself, returning to his amiable disposition. He made a note to get his uniform washed when the dry-cleaner re-opened.
After eating a bowl of cardboard-stale cereal, Michael left the house and retrieved his bike from the garage. The tires were flat and the chain was rusty, but it got him to work and back just fine. On his way to the warehouse, he was careful to avoid the multitude of cars parked haphazardly in the middle of road, and half wondering if someone had moved them there on purpose, maybe to create some kind of maze.
Arriving at the warehouse, Michael locked his bike to a busted telephone pole. Turning to face his place of occupation, he couldn't help but notice that many of the windows had been smashed. Even more alarming was the wreck of a pickup that was seemingly embedded in the wall, the whole cabin having disappeared inside the hole it had created. Michael decided to report this to his boss as soon as possible.
He entered through the building’s big garage door, surveying the huge stacks of crates and wooden platforms. A loud ching sounded from the punch card machine, dust rising and settling on its smooth plastic surface. He turned, ready to begin working, when he spied his boss sitting in his office chair, his head tilted back and to the left, as if there was something hanging in the corner of his room. Michael looked, but nothing was there; at least, nothing he could see.
“Hey Ronny!”, Michael called, waving his hand in greeting. “It looked like someone crashed their car into the wall over there! You might want to take a look at that some time!”
His boss didn’t say a word. He didn’t even turn to acknowledge Michael’s words.
“Geez, Ron’s always so grumpy. Never wants to talk”. Having fulfilled his duty, Michael quickly went to work, loading boxes onto trucks, then unloading trucks and putting the boxes on the shelves. After about an hour, he spied his friend Tom sitting against a shelf, his cap pulled down over his eyes.
“Hey Ron, I’m takin’ my lunch break early, alright?”
Not a sound came from the office.
“I’m sure he won’t mind”, Michael thought as he ran to meet Tom.
“Hey Tom, how’s it goin’ buddy!?”. The greeting echoes throughout the warehouse, a boom among the quiet creaks of musty wood and rusted metal. Tom sat there, the warehouse overalls sagging off his gaunt form like rolls of fat.
“Hey Tom, you’re not lookin’ so good. Is something wrong? “.
Silence. Tom’s head rolled forward, an exaggerated nod? Or maybe a lazy shake?
“Look, I can’t help unless you tell me. Are you not getting food? I’m the wife and I could save some for you.”
Nothing. Not a sound but the sagging of the warehouse, a tired sigh, a final breath. That, and the sound of flies, white noise, tv static.
“Fine. But if you need anything, you’ve got my number.”
Michael finished his work and punched out riding his bike back home. He walked through the doorway, over the door that had long since fallen off its hinges. He climbed up the rotted staircase, cockroach corpses crunching underfoot. He entered his bedroom, greeted his wife, who was sleeping, and kissed her emaciated face, wet maggots sticking to his lips before falling onto the bedsheets. Michael climbed under the covers, rested his head on the sweat-crusted pillow, an began to sob. And he didn’t quite know why.