When furniture is built better than you are...

a man's sweaty, tight fist pinches a small delicate cloth between his thumb and forefinger. He holds the glasses up to a light and inspects them for grease. when he puts the glasses on he is visibly disturbed. something is truncating his full field of vision. what it is, he cannot determine. he clears his throat, adjusts his squeaky office chair underneath him. places his hands on the desk and breathes through lips making an "o" shape quickly... visibly, he is calming.

he stretches his inverted folded hand out before him, listens to the comforting pop of his shoulders, springs up, and begins a spasmatic furious punching of the air. his face is tight, the calm is gone. his ears are red, and the blood is spreading to his face. a bead of sweat begins to form on his brow... now his chair has toppled.

one of the legs hits his shin as it awkwardly descends. he curses, begins to kick the chair. his shoes scuffing the legs as he misses the chair, full force. he loses his balance. time is standing still.

his arms pointed slightly upward, arms bent, back arched... his head is the leader in this race to the open drawer of his desk.

The furniture dealer knew him, he knew his type at least. The sale would be a good one. No cheap fiber board for this man, no. He bought mahogany; wood of the gods. solid top, nearly two inches thick... the rest of the desk well built, like a perfectly operating machine. "This desk will outlive any owner."

"This desk will outlive any owner" thought the plummeting man as his head neared the opened drawer. it takes nearly half a second to fall to the floor, and half of that half is spent in a smile. this man has found complete happiness for the first time in his life for a mere quarter second.

the only thing he ever wanted was not to be in control. the calm has returned and amplified. he relaxes entirely. to see a skull split open is unlike any horrifying image a physical injury you can imagine. to see it monday morning, realizing that it has been split open for nearly two full days will make you vomit.

Cindy hated her boss, but she didn't want him dead. Cindy had never seen a dead person, aside from the plastic substitutes in coffins. her boss was dead, those coffins didn't hold people. the bile was rising in her throat when his partner strolled in, he knew something was wrong, Cindy was upset. "Mark..." was all she said as he approached her. she threw up. a physical representation of emotion. he was doubled over, gagging at Cindy's breakfast, a bagel apparently... when he saw Cliff. one fly circling his head like a vulture.