1/8/20 – hubris

The boy with the feathered hair spilled into the front office bleeding obscenities from the mouth.

“Cunt ass bitch!” he called the man with the power.

The man with the power disappeared down the corridor, and a cloud formed.

Maryann froze behind the copy machine and arranged her face into a poster of disinterest. The hair on her arms spiked, and her ears grew large: A poser of disinterest. She logged the boy’s every syllable and marveled over the loose way his arms swung about his torso. He was all output. Output output output… His body broke free from the weight of things.

Maryann pushed a button, but she wasn’t sure which one. Nothing happened, and her finger felt thick and without purpose. Too much input felt heavy in the bones.

“Mother fucking wrinkly ass old whores!” the boy continued.

A security officer appeared, his uniform starched. He held one hand on his hip and the other at his side, both strung through with invisible wire. “Young man,” he said through pencil lips. The words hung in fine black print in cartoon bubbles. “Young man,” he said again, “you’ll have to leave.”

The boy stopped, ran both hands through his long, black, feathered hair. His eyes narrowed as if pulling into focus something far away. He held one finger above his head. He clucked his tongue. He held up a second finger and clucked his tongue again.

Maryann held her breath. The mechanics of the copy machine hummed audibly.

“Young man,” the officer repeated.

The boy with the feathered hair held up a third finger and clucked his tongue again.

Maryann’s throat tickled, but she did not clear it.

The officer swallowed, but they could not hear it.

The second hand on the clock said, “Tick” and they all ignored it.

The boy with the feathered hair tipped his head back and laughed. “Jesus, People,” he said. He reached out one hand and swept one stack of papers, a stapler, and a bouquet of pencils off the desk. They clattered to the floor. “I’m out!” he yelled.

Maryann watched him through the window, lumbering down the front sidewalk, gesticulating into the air, his arms like an inflatable Gumby. Her own fell heavy to her sides.