When the daylight has faded

Greasy pole (#top)

My desk groaned as a new pile of files settled on top of the mountain of old ones like waste in landfill.

"'You wanna get on top of that asap if you still want that promotion, man," Jim, my dear friend and colleague, advised.

"I've been working 70-hour weeks for the last six months. Got three hours sleep last night. I'm exhausted."

"Exhausted? Christ, Miller, not even promoted yet and already exhausted? Not a good sign, not a good sign!" My boss's voice came out of nowhere, making me groan in sync with my desk. "I was just about to give you the Cullen file. It's a little time-sensitive, and I need a good man on it. You're really the only one who can do this. But I guess you're not available."

"Just joking, boss! Don't worry, just leave it with me." I painted a confidence-inspiring smile on my pale cheeks that flaked when it touched my gritty eyes.

Jimmy grinned at me from his empty unambitious desk.

I opened the file and fought to keep my head above breast level. This promotion was mine!

"Miller, the Cullen file!" my boss shouted from his office what seemed like less than five minutes later. The last finishing touches done in a standing position, I pushed my morning's work into my boss's eager hands.

"Don't forget the contract, Miller. Should have gone out yesterday!"

I nodded and rushed back to my desk, trying to ignore the ringing of the telephone. That contract needed to be drafted first. The bloody telephone wouldn't give up vying for my attention. My head started to swim, my heart to pound.

I took a sip of tepid coffee from my cup, focussing on the paper in front of me. But suddenly the words and my head were doing a sloppy synchronised swimming choreography, and my heart seemed to do a limping sprint. My chest squeezed painfully.

"Miller?"

I felt Jim's arms around me, holding me up. My fingers curled around Jimmy's pristine white sleeves. I noticed the fabric wrinkle, then turn into a swirling motion that seemed to gain momentum until I found myself floating at the top of the room, looking down on my frantic boss, bent over a slightly overweight lump of limp meat that looked suspiciously like me, and a motionless Jim.

"Don't just stand there! Let the paramedics in, Jim!" my boss screamed.

Man, did I feel sorry for my look-alike when those paramedics got started. I was sure I was able to hear the poor guy's ribs crack one by one before the men looked up, shaking their head.

"What do you mean, there's nothing you can do for him?" The boss sounded frantic.

"Looks like a massive heart attack. Sorry, but he died pretty much instantly."

"Died? He's up for promotion in a few weeks when Peters is retiring."

My friend Jimmy tugged his arm gently.

"Not to worry, boss, I can help out. Miller always gave me half his workload anyway so I'm up to speed. You know me, always happy to help," he said and glanced at my cup of coffee before looking up at the ceiling.