Routine goes on and on

The pills keep the world in black and white. That is what they were designed to do and they are really good at their job.

For most people anyway.

However, there are times when the colours slip through for a moment and I can see the world the way it is supposed to be. There is clarity and beauty and it makes me remember.

This is not allowed anymore and so I do not mention it to anyone.

The same goes for the people in the glass. They are still there, staring at us, judging us. Every time I take the train, I can see them. Everyone must be able to but nobody talks about them either. It is easier that way.

I get up each morning at the allotted time. Prepare for the day ahead and take my pill. Years of taking them has made me almost immune to the nausea now. I go and stand with the other commuters and wait for a train that is never on time but is also never late. It can’t be late because that would indicate that things are not working properly. That just does not happen anymore.

Inevitably I end up standing as the train trundles towards the job sector, seats already full by the time I get on. Everyone looks down, either at their phones or the daily newspaper. I mostly do the same but I cannot help myself at times and I have to check. My eyes flick towards the windows and I wait for the light outside to show them to me. Exact duplicates of the people on the train but in colour and angry. So, so angry.

Others must see them too but it only takes a suspicion and you are taken away for therapy. Those that do come back are never the same. See that happen enough times and you quickly learn to shut yourself off from the world. Give the impression that you are in your own little world. They never check those people. We are quiet, we do not question and we are pliant. That is how you get on today.

I get off with the crowds of people and make my way to my job. The one that was allocated to me and the one that will decide when I am no longer wanted. I wonder if the glass people are still there, trapped in the train windows or if they are walking along beside us. Still watching, still judging.

Still angry.

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Confessions of an IT fixer

“My husband says that we have been infected by one of those Russian virus things.”

Svetlanas rough accent cut through the silence that hung as we watched her computer screen fill up with porn pop ups.  We both knew she was lying but I am a professional.  I was not even going to ask her if her name was really Svetlana.  There are not many Aberdonians with such exotic sounding names and of those that exist, I am pretty sure that she was not one of them.

“He spends so much time on this bloody thing, checking football results and international politics, that I sometimes thing he should have married it.”  Her laugh sounded nervous.

I smiled at her and moved the mouse to start the cleaning process.  She politely asked if I wanted a cup of tea, her eyes glinting in that strange middle aged way.

So I set about dithering in ham (technical term) and realigning the TDS Flange (Old School Technical term), she busied herself in the kitchen.  It was a normal day for a freelance IT fixer.

Or at least that was how it started out.

“Ooh how clumsy,” her broken glass words brought me out of the Working focus I was in.  Looking up her white half cotton, half something else blouse was now soaking and see through.  “I somehow managed to spill all this warm soapy water all over myself,” she added.

Gallantly I stood up and went to her assistance, much like the knights of old did.  As I helped her unbutton her garment I became aware that she was not wearing any underwear, which struck me as strange as her house was not particularly warm.

At this point dear reader, I must admit that I am a man and as such, there are things that I have almost no control over.

(Although I have more control over these than most)

“So any chance of that cup of tea?”  Her sighs of delight filled the room.

Later as I licked the cream off of my fingers, I felt I had to compliment Svetlana on her excellent choice of cake.  Not Marksies sadly but it was tasty nonetheless.  I made a mental note to check the box before I left.

Svetlana sat in front of her now working computer, her face a strange mixture of relief and confusion.  I could see by the tears forming in her eyes, that I had got her out of a jam.  Part of the job is what I would have told her.  Had she asked.

“So that is everything working for you now.  I would tell your husband that the Russians wont be attacking him again.”  I started packing my bag and folded the payment she had left me, into my high quality leather wallet.  As I turned to go, she spoke a phrase that would change my life forever.

“So do you fancy a shag?”

I paused and looked at my very exclusive and not cheap watch.  I charged by the hour and she had at least 20 minutes of my time that she had already paid for.

“Yeah Alright.”

That was my first mistake.