Superflous

Superflous

Through the bright screen, I restlessly switch the tabs, I click and scroll, then I remember to breathe. I am contained in these four walls that I call my own, it is meagre but safe. I sit on my bed, neck arched forward, eyes narrowed as the light casts my shadow against the wall and rises toward the ceiling. I have important things to do tomorrow, seeing as I'm a busy guy with a life to maintain. I really ought to be responsible, that's my moral imperative, actually it’s just a rational one but let’s put that aside for now for as I have matters to attend to.
My retina is strained looking at the screen, and now my eyes are itchy. I am half-comatose, but something lets me subsist into the night. One more… It's only sleep, it's just in my mind anyways and what really is the mind compared to that of a computer? I’d rather be awake.
How is counting these clickbait articles any different from sheep? Instead of hopping the fence, they leap over logic. There I go again, amusing myself. This is the side of me I need to reveal to more people. Then I would be incredibly famous, or at least at the level of a local celebrity or a television presenter. That certainly would show people, the herd.
10 Ways Millennials are Ruining Novels. You won't believe Number 8!
Will I seriously not believe it? I'm anticipating some earth-shattering revelation. The waves of exhaustion have subsided, my eyes are no longer itchy or maybe they are but I don’t notice. The tide recedes into an ocean of kneejerk reactionism.
I scan intently at the article and forcefully breathe through my nose. The contents have rather upset me, aren't older Millennials approaching their 40's nowadays? Yeah, this is all just nonsense.
Number 1. Prose is dead! Number 2. The Young Adult Bildungsroman reigns supreme! Number 3. Page turning culture! Number 4.  They aren't buying Books! ....
Stop, stop, stop. I'm not getting to number 8, it's too painful, why it's hardly more than I can bear.
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 I get public transport all the time, and I've noticed that these young people "Millennials" are always on their phones! They're not getting stuck into a good book like the old days. My grandson never talks to me anymore... :(		Likes: 4 	Reply to this comment?
Yes, I shall and with a burning desire for retribution. My fingers are already doing the work, the keyboard is invisible, an extension of my very being, tapping away in a frenzied mania. This is it, my magnum opus.
	Shut up, you old cunt! Maybe if you weren't so fucking boring your grandson would talk to you! Some of us don't have time for your boring old boomer ways! I have a life to maintain and you aren't part of it. It's called life in the fast lane grandma, and it's accelerating... You, on the other hand are crawling towards the grave.
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My work here is done, I close my trusty laptop and the bright blue light encompassing my face is replaced with the familiar blackness. Now I can rest peacefully alone knowing that I said what needed to be said. I've always prided myself on that ability, I'm relentlessly honest, a free spirit, a real provocateur. Rummaging through my blinds I can observe some light peering through the clouds, and now the familiar blackness had turned into an ambiguous shade of grey, and soon it would be blue again. It must be close to morning. Fuck, not again. If I'm lucky I might be able to bleed a couple of hours of sleep out of this dry sponge of a night. Good grief, how did I let this happen again? I lie still, eyes closed staring at the back of my eyelids. Nothing, no dreams, no desire. This continues for about another two hours.
I open my eyes only to find myself engulfed in a syrupy haze, thick and viscous. A little caffeine will do me good this morning I reckon. Yes, it'll get me through the morning, I will clear this haze and ignite the day. The window is cracked open and through my blinds the sun seeps in. The heat continues to pour down on me like a glaze. Where's that drink? I left a 500 mL can of V (tm) The Energy Hit That Improves You a Bit! (tm). I recall the moment, bought it for $3.50 on sale at 7 Eleven yesterday. What a bargain! I rise to attention, stretching, yawning.
My apartment's kitchen really is filthy, disorderly, disgusting, the sordid cesspit of a late 20's malcontent. The sink is lined with half cleaned frypans, and dishes chucked in slothfully without rhyme nor reason. Consequently, there's a prominent stench of soap scum and assorted rotting meats (Spaghettio’s?) that the heat has only exacerbated. On the kitchen counter lies a collection of assorted bottles filled with urine, I was in a rush at the time, I'm not an animal. No time to sort all of this out though, as long as no one else sees it I should be in the clear. I just need to keep up appearances. Light blue button up shirt. Check. Clean underpants (mostly). Check.  Grey slacks. Check. Fashionable tie featuring a fish of some sort. Double check.
I step towards the fridge and crack open the seal, like I'm opening a treasure chest. The breath of cool air as I open it offers a moment of respite from the heat. There it is, right where I left it. The fridge hums and glows as the can sits there like an idol, knowingly, ready to be taken and drank. The nectar of the Gods. *Crack psssh* The sound rings in my ear, I've heard it so many times before. Orgasmic. The bubbles ignite my tongue, jumping around as I swill the liquid around my gullet. The doctor tells me to stop, 'heart rate this', 'blood sugar that' but I need this to survive. Don’t they understand what my needs are?
My heart starts pumping faster, leaving an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my chest but it is necessary. Now, with my veins filled, I jolt to attention. Caffeine used to work so much better, it's more of a dull jolt nowadays, like an old car starting up. I used to work better. The common sentiment is that the heart is a symbol of love and compassion. However, my doctor has mentioned on more than one occasion that heart disease is the deadliest thing there is, even more deadly than cancer, or airplane crashes or cases of international terrorism and such. "Heart disease is the deadliest disease there is, Jim." He often says. He was to the point, and I appreciated his directness. That's the thing they don't tell you about that lump of flesh and muscle residing in your chest. That thing will attack you at a moment's notice. It will seize you in your sleep without mercy.

The train reaches a stop, whilst I wait steadfastly behind the yellow line as instructed. I have a respect for the rules, you see. Some people seem intent in neglecting trainline etiquette, whereas I am resolute and dutiful. Sometimes I look down in the crevice between the station and the train before I step on, in order to test my mental fortitude. I pray one day I never fall down there.
I sit and I wait, perusing on my phone, of which I have every right to peruse. I could be reading a book, hell, I’ve considered it at least a couple of times but what’s the use in that? No, I’m much happier letting the time slip away looking at this colourful screen before I arrive at my place of work. The connecting doors open and through them emerge a pair of Myki officers. One stout and balding, while the other taller, clearly the brains of the operation. It's coming back, that feeling of helplessness. That feeling of being victim to authority, my autonomy deleted, revoked. This wasn't part of the social contract, and this certainly wasn't part of the deal. The taller officer approaches me with a stern, fixed expression. I can tell he takes his occupation seriously, how I loathe him.
"Sir, could you please show me your concession?"
They've found me out the cretins, the mongrels. This is such a fierce abuse of authority, it's unjust, it's sick.
"I-I have seemed to have misplaced my concession, but I definitely have it! Definitely! Just not here, I'm a student you see…”
I shuffle through my wallet, with hands uneasy, shaking under my dull caffeine high. I begin peeling through a series of coupons, fumbling through each item as my own hands resist me. A library card used twice, a blood donor card and a student ID. There she is. I hand it over with new found confidence.
"Surely this is evidence of a concession?"
The officer inspects the ID like a hawk, deciphering the content. He'll find out though, it will stand up to his intense scrutiny.
"Sir, this ID is at least five years out of date. It's evidence that you've been avoiding paying the full fare to ride the train."
He jotted down with his pen, applying with force. I could see it. The whole train could see it. The blue ink penetrating his yellow booklet scratching, inscribing my inevitable financial demise. He hands me the piece of paper.
"You'll receive a more detailed fine through the mail in a couple days."
$250? The nerve! I could buy so much V with that. I could buy anything, anything! He's a crook, he cares nothing about duty, about decency. This train is mine to use, mine to sit on. What right has he?

My supervisor, Beth Henderson is waiting for me within the office. She's middle-aged, around 45 or so, you don't usually ask that kind of thing out of respect. Beth's a divorcee, but she looks rather attractive for her age, she hasn't let a failed marriage get in the way of her insurance job, that's for damn certain. Anyways she's pretty nice to me personally, we have a rapport.
"Hello there Jim. Having some Monday morning woes?"
"Hehe yeah, good thanks."
She looks confused, perhaps I was talking too fast? I am usually fairly jumpy in conversation so I don't blame her. It's okay, next time better to stay silent, less trouble, less chance for error.
"Well, I'm at least glad that you could grace us with your presence."
I stand up straighter, clear my throat with a silent cough and offer a solid alibi.
"I know, sorry I'm late today Ms. Henderson. I just got caught up in a... Disturbance."
I wasn't lying really. That train ticket really sent me over the edge, I had to buy another V at the stop to calm myself down. This wouldn't have happened if I just had gotten some sleep.
"Yeah well...” She pauses.
“This is the fourth time this month with you and your little "disturbances" Jimmy. You have to make an effort to be punctual. Simon over here arrives everyday on time, sometimes even five minutes before."
Simon waves and returns to his spreadsheet, smugly. The prick.
"Listen... Jimmy, we all appreciate what you do around here. You're a good employee, serviceable even."
She looks strained as she says it, like she's passing a kidney stone, even though she couldn't know that pain. It's excruciating by the way. Beth stares blankly as if I'm not aware of what or who I am. 'Good employee, but not great.' Just say it you coward. I make my deadlines, I read your memos, I do my work. What more do you want? Do you want me to love it? To worship it? To kiss your feet every day and thank the heavens themselves I have such a great job? There's no pride in being a wage slave, there's no pride in being a NEET either but this is not much better. However, it is at least important, I do wear a tie after all, that's what matters.
I nod.
"...Thank you, Ms. Henderson."
She puts her hand on my shoulder and I flinch, it's soft.
"Which is why... and I have to apologise for this, you know this isn't easy. We're making some cuts. Reality is, people aren't buying as much insurance nowadays. Crazy I know, but hey this business comes and goes, like a tide, or some other thing that comes and goes. I'm not good with metaphors, ya dig?"
"...Ya dig?" Do people still use that phrase? I wasn't going to hedge a bet either way, I don't get out enough but Beth does seem like more of a cosmopolitan, a citizen of worldly knowledge.
"Anyways, it’s been hard on all of us here. So we're going to have cut your hours."
Beth scrunches her mouth into a sort of grimace. Over time I've become accustomed to that look.
"Well what about Simon?"