Underneath the dim light of the pre-dawn Federal Building, Sam swept the silent foyer.  No one but he and a few other scattered cleaning personnel were there so early.  Only the whish whoosh of his broom broke the dead silence pervading the building.  Sam smiled.  He felt as if his job meant something.  He wasn't a high school janitor or someone who swept up soiled department stores.  Those people simply cleaned up dirty buildings.   His, on the other hand, was quite a different responsibility.  He protected an image.  He kept the government clean, his country clean.  Sam kept the Federal Building squeaky clean.  That was his job; that was his pride.

            A loud rapping on the external glass doors broke his reverie.  Sam stepped over toward them and unlocked one.  "You the electrician?" he asked the man waiting outside.

            "That's me," the man replied.

            Sam checked his watch.  He was right on time.  "Okay, come on in."

            "Thanks."

            "No problem.  Gotta keep everything in order, you know?" Sam said.

            "Yup."

            "You know where you're headed?"

            "Sure thing."

            "Okay then,” Sam said.  “Good luck." 

            Everyone had his or her job to do and Sam had his.  Turning his back on the electrician, he re-locked the front door.  Sam smiled again as he swept the worn-soft white tile of the foyer.  He figured it was about time to mop.

            Louis rolled over in his bed, avoiding the wetness.  He put his arms up to deflect it.  "Get away," he mumbled.  Duke wouldn't relent, though—he kept licking Louis' face.  Finally, Louis opened his eyes and put his hands out, partly to ward off the attack, and partly in acquiescence to his dog. 

            "Okay, okay, Duke.  Settle down."  He petted the dog, running his hands over Duke's smooth brown and black fur, twisting his floppy ears, and scratching the back of his neck.

            Louis rolled out of bed away from his dog.  He spotted a plastic bone on the floor.  Picking it up, he made to throw it—only he didn't.  Duke's head swung around and his body moved, ready to jump and catch the bone, only he couldn't find it.  After a few confused moments, he looked back at Louis, his tongue hanging out.  Louis imagined that the dog's expression would be one of raised eyebrows and wide eyes.  It was an eager and almost pathetic look: one Louis couldn't resist.

            Louis allowed himself a small, gentle smile and then tossed the bone.  Duke leapt after it.  His tail wagging behind him, Duke returned the bone to Louis.  Louis went for the bone, to throw it again, but Duke wouldn't let up on his bite.  "That's how you're gonna be, hunh?"  The two wrestled with it for a moment—Louis jerking the bone back and forth and Duke's head swinging right with it, refusing to give it up—until Duke let him have it.

            "Now get away from me, Duke.  I gotta get ready for work."  He threw the bone into the next room and stepped off towards the bathroom.

            Patrick sat on the toilet, not quite able to go.  It bothered him.  Not being able to go.  He didn't want to feel as if he was getting old; he generally attributed constipation as being an ailment of the old.  He really wasn't that old.

            Catherine finished brushing her teeth at the sink and turned to her husband.  Her soft socks stepped silently across the tile floor.  She sat on her husband's lap, facing him, first pulling up her sweatshirt so she didn't sit on it; she only had panties on otherwise.

            "Cathy," Patrick complained.  "I'm trying to go the bathroom."

            "Having a little problem today?" she said in a little baby voice.

            "It's not funny."

            "So take some medicine," she said.

            "This isn't funny," Patrick said.

            "I'm sorry."

            "I bet," he said as she got up. "Why don't you go make me some breakfast—like you're supposed to—while I finish getting ready."

            "Don't talk to me like I'm your servant," Catherine said.

            "Just go."

            "A please would help."

            Frustrated, Patrick stood up, pulled up his suit pants, zipped the fly, buttoned the button, and locked his belt.  He walked over to his wife and hugged her.  He gave her a small, but sweet, kiss.  "Please."

            "That's better."

            Joe tightened his tie as he sat down to breakfast.  Two scrambled eggs, two strips of bacon, and a glass of orange juice sat before him.  A rare treat.  Usually with both he and Judy working, there was only time for something quick:  usually something cold.  Luckily, Katy was at that age where she felt that cooking was a grown-up thing to do and not yet a chore.

            Biting into the bacon, he smiled at his teenage daughter.  "Excellent."

            "Thank you, daddy."  Katy blushed ever so slightly.

            Little Johnny came skipping over the wooden floor tiles.  "Good mornin' ever'body."

            "What's got you so riled up this morning?" Joe asked.

            "Today's Jimmy's birfday, and we get a party for 'im."

            "A party?" Joe asked.

            "Uh-huh."

            "Aren't you lucky!"  Joe caught his daughter rolling her eyes, but kept smiling.

            Judy came into the room, almost running.  Her hands were hovering over her meticulously bunned hair and she looked at herself in every reflectable surface she could find.  "I'm late, Joe, how do I look?  Okay?  I—"

            "Relax, Judy.  Katy cooked for us this morning.  You don't have to worry about scrounging up anything."

            "Oh," Judy said, as if allowing herself her first breath in a long while.  "How nice."

            "Well," Joe said, cleaning up his plate, "I don't get to start as late as you private-enterprise employees, so I've got to get going."

            "Okay," Judy replied.  “Have a good day.”

            Joe leaned over and kissed Judy good-bye.  Behind the kitchen counter he gave her a soft pat on the butt.  "See you after work."  He turned to his kids, kissing them both and telling them he loved them.

*          *          *          *

            Amidst the dullness of the Federal Building basement, Crowe worked diligently on the job before him.  He pulled a penlight out of the breast pocket of his jumpsuit.  Murray's Electric, the letters said above the pocket.  As Crowe worked, he pushed his long, black hair out of his way; it was in a ponytail, but a strand had come loose and fallen over his face, blocking his vision.  This was not an easy job, but he knew what he was doing.  His dark, native hands flowed smoothly, telling him what to do.  His eyes squinted, trying hard to see the small components that he worked with.  Crowe allowed himself a small grin; at least this would not be an all day job—it should hardly take more than an hour if all went right.

*          *          *

            Chip strode out into his driveway.  It was a nice morning.  The temperature was mild and the sun was just rising.  The grass was green all the way down the street and the trees were in full bloom.  Even through the white picket fences and the oak trees planted in the yards of his neighbors, he could see down the street quite far, and it all looked beautiful.

            It was early enough that Chip could still see the drops of the morning dew on his dark green car.  He depressed the button on his keychain that unlocked the car and opened the door.  His neighbor, Mr. Burns, was coming out of his house to get the paper.  "Morning, Mr. Burns," Chip said.

            "Morning, Chip.  Looks like it's gonna be a lovely day."

            "Yeah, it sure does."

            Chip sat down in his mid-sized luxury car and started the engine.  He immediately turned on the radio to see how traffic was.  There was always some, but barring construction or an accident, it usually wasn't too bad.

            Daniel sat in his car, waiting for a red light to change on the outskirts of the city.  One hand was on the wheel, the other holding his mobile phone to his ear.  "No, it's just that I might be a little late, that's all,” he said.

            "No there's not that much traffic, I'm just running late.  I simply thought I'd have the courtesy to—

            "No, I didn't fuck her!

            "What?  Don't be ridiculous.

            "Listen you don't have to be such a cunt about either that or my being late, okay?  I'm just—

            "No, I—

            “No,” Daniel said as he shifted the car into gear, switching which hand held the phone and holding the steering wheel with his knee.

            "I'm, sorry—

            “Yes—

            "Yes.  I do know that you are my boss.

            “Yes, I know,” he said, shifting lanes, and moving the phone back into his other hand.

            "No, I won't ever call you that again.

            "No, I won't talk back to you again.

            "No!  I'm not wearing your panties yet!  I—

            Daniel slammed on his breaks as the light turned red, stopping just short of the car in front of him.  The driver yelled out his window back at him.  Daniel just held up his hand apologetically. “Yes, I am listening,” he said into the phone.

            “Yes, I know!  The panties—

            "Yes.  I'm sorry.  I just—what I meant is I can't put them on at home, I have to put them on at work.

            “No!  She’s still my wife for Christ’s sake.  I need to—“

            “Yes, I—“

            “No I didn’t mean—no, it's not that I don’t respect you.”  Daniel moved his car forward again.

            “Of course I respect you more.

            "What?  Now?

            "I—

            "You'll what?

            "But—

            "Yes.  I'm sorry.

            "Yes, I'll do it.

            "Yes, I'll do it, Mistress.

            “Yes,” Daniel said, slightly annoyed. “Yes,” I’m starting now.”  Daniel starting pulling his belt loose. 

            "Yes, I am terribly sorry.

            "Yes, I want you more than anyone else in the world.

            "Good-bye."

            Daniel shut off the phone and threw it down on the floor.  She could be such a bother sometimes, more so than even his wife—of course he'd never tell her that.  If he did as he was told, though, he knew he would be rewarded well; that thought excited him.  Daniel looked over his shoulders as he switched lanes.  He allowed the corners of his lips to curl up slightly as he kicked off his shoes and wriggled out of his pants.

            Terrance stopped at the newspaper stand and flicked down enough change for the daily newspaper.  The man working at the register was a blind man, Harry, who had worked there for years.  Terrance had always thought that it was great that he had somewhere to work, something to do. 

            "How are ya, Harry?" Terrance said.

            "Just fine.  That you Terrance?"

            "Yes, sir.  You got it."

            "Sure do.  After you hear a man's voice every day for a couple of years, you know it."

            "Of course.  I'll see ya later, Harry," Terrance said with a smile.

            "Of course," Harry replied, also smiling.

            Terrance enjoyed starting off his day with a quick hello to, and sometimes a full-blown conversation with, the old man; sometimes it helped take the edge off of the bureaucratic dreariness that followed.

*          *          *

            Alone in the basement, Crowe stood up, his work finished. He unzipped his jumpsuit and stepped out of it.  Underneath was a black business suit that smartly fit over a white dress shirt, accented by a navy blue tie with gray streaks in it.  Crowe discarded the jumpsuit on the floor momentarily as he pulled a briefcase out of his tool bag.  He then rolled up both the jumpsuit and the empty bag and put them into the empty briefcase.

*          *

            Outside, a lone cloud covered the sun and cast Alex's shadow in front of him; he walked over it and up the steps to the Federal Building.  The tall set of white steps was always a "fun" climb.  He supposed it had to do with the grandeur of the federal government and all that.  It didn't really bother him; a little exercise wouldn't hurt him.  He went to the gym every other day to keep in shape so he supposed he shouldn't whine about a few steps.

            Alex saw some people he knew up ahead of him and grinned, hurrying to meet them.  On his way, another darker skinned man in a black suit bumped into him.  The man was apparently in a bit of a hurry.  Alex ignored the indignity and moved towards his friend.

            Kate ran a hand through her hair unconsciously—though, her hairdresser had cut it so short, she barely could.  Kate had only planned on a nice trim, but on some insane whim had decided to cut it almost all off.  She'd received various positive comments on it, from "very fashionable," to "it looks nice."  She wasn't sure which ones were true compliments and which were were white lies.  Either way, she had done it for herself; she was so sick of catering to males' preconceived notions that attractive women had to have long hair.  Honestly, though, she was still a little nervous as to whether this particular look actually did look good.

            She looked up, seeing what floor the elevator was up to: three more floors to go.  Besides her hair—which was impossible—Kate tried to forget her daily life and fill her mind with what she knew was to come, the day-to-day rigors of the government bureaucracy; she focused on the grind to which she was a willing slave and rested her mind with complete, regimented bliss.

*          *

            Not yet allowing himself any satisfaction, Crowe walked away from the Federal Building.  He didn't walk too fast and certainly not too slow.  Other than for his long hair, he looked just like any other man coming or going.  No different at all.  He was just a man coming and going, getting his work done.  That was all.

*

            Both men stared out the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

            "Is everything set?" one man asked.

            "Of course," the other said, staring out the window over the city.

            "When will it happen?"

            "Patience."

            "We need to make our point.  If they don't understand—"

            "Don't worry, they'll get it.  We've got the press release all set.  We just have to wait until the time is right."

            "Well, we're just about out of time."

            "Don't you worry about that.”

*

            Sam slung his mop over his shoulder and walked back towards the water bucket.  Even the basements needed to be squeaky clean, he figured.  Too much dust, dirt, and grime would slow down the governmental machine.  He couldn't

            Before any of his senses could understand what was happening, his skin was torn from his flesh and his bones from their sockets; almost at the same time, waves of flames incinerated all his torn chunks of flesh—

            Louis paused in the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror.  As he unconsciously picked his nose, he accidentally smelled his hand.  It seemed as if sometimes you could never get the dog smell off of your hands.  What a

            Patrick sat ten feet away, still trying to force himself to go the bathroom.  He didn't like the feeling of not being able to go, but wanting so bad to do so.  It really

            Floor tiles blew upward, the force wave not yet even close to peaking.  Between the exploding tiles and pure destructive energy, Louis died brutally, yet instantly—

            Water gushed under Patrick, and the bowl beneath him exploded; his body was torn apart and then was consumed by flames—

            Sitting in his second-story office, Joe looked at the picture of his kids on his desk; he looked at the one of his wife.  He smiled at what he loved, so much, he only wished

            Death exploded on Joe and wiped out any thoughts of—

            Chip walked through the fifth-floor, stopping to peer out one of the windows.  It was such a nice day out and he loved the outdoors.  He wished he had a job where he wasn't cooped up all day.  Maybe he could transfer to

            The explosion rocked his body, blowing it out through the glass.  He wasn't dead, but the speed at which everything happened prevented him from feeling anything before the all too short seconds when he hit the ground—

            Daniel half ran down the hallway, late, pulling at the panties that were riding up his butt.  If only his boss wasn't so strict—perhaps if he didn’t like her to be so strict—he wouldn't be in this situation to

            He heard the explosion—not knowing what it was—and the force of it knocked him off his feet.  Ripples broke apart the floor and through his confusion Daniel assured himself of his survival.  Frantically, he scrambled to get back to his feet.  He felt hot and wet.  He felt his forehead; it was sticky.  His hand came down with blood on it.  He panicked, running with a limp toward the stairwell.  What was happening?  He was so nervous, his heart pounding so hard, he tripped over his own feet and fell down the stairs, falling into a wave of rising flames—

            Terrance dropped his newspaper as the entire building shook.  His desk moved away from him and his chair tipped over backward.  He tried to get up, but when he did, the desk was gone—half his entire office was gone—then he noticed the floor was gone.  He didn't dare look how far down it was, he only wanted to escape.  Terrance had no idea what was going on and his mind wasn't reacting rationally enough to tell him.  He stood up again, only to fall again, as the floor collapsed, sending him stories down—

            Standing outside with a friend, rather than having gone into work on time, Alex was unexpectedly thrown away from the building by an explosive force that ripped eight stories up into the building.  His body, and that of his friend, and that of anyone else nearby, were thrown back with enough force to make sure that they were all dead—

            Kate was thrown out of the elevator even as it suddenly dropped, its cables severed in the explosion.  She was lucky enough to have made it out; another man hadn't.  As she fell forward, the floor jumped, bouncing her off her feet; she landed five feet away.  She sat up slowly, the building still moving in circles around her.  She couldn't catch her bearings.  She threw a hand out to steady herself, but still couldn't make sense of what had just happened or of why the room was still moving.

            Her ears were ringing and she had just begun to realize that the sprinkler system had gone off.  Through the pain in her head, she could begin to hear screams of anguish—from what she didn't know.

            She crawled towards her office, inexplicably, to call for help, or information even.  She stopped just past the stairwell, though.  Her mouth hanging open, she stared at the floor before her that dipped down, sloping at more than a forty-five degree angle.

            Still not understanding what was seeing or hearing amidst the emergency shutdown of her naturally rational thought processes, she stood up, using the wall to steady her.  As Kate looked out across the hallway, she saw nothing but a huge, gaping, hole; she couldn't see the bottom.  She didn’t want to think about it: almost as if she feared that there wouldn't be a bottom—yet she couldn’t take her eyes off of it.

            Kate did not know which way was up or what was real.  Finally she had to close her eyes to it.  She sunk back onto her knees slowly and tried to assimilate all she had seen. 

            She could not. 

            As hard as she tried, she could not understand what had happened.  She could not register what it was, how it had come about, or why.  The only thing she could do was fall back against the wall and sit.

            Sit and cry and wait.

All Rights Reserved © 05/01/1996