Emerald Green

Chapter 1: Hold My Hand

Three men have gone missing from North-West city of Aeneas. One is suspected to being murdered, the other two supposedly kidnapped while investigating the crime. Sightings of this killer have become more and more frequent throughout the northwest however, it seems like this specific killer is fast and dangerous, so be warned: he is out there.

It's been rampaging over the news for weeks. Of course, anything about murder spreads like wildfire in drought when it's on the media. Maybe that's why so many people commit murder. For fame. Some could call it glory, but I call it dead. Dead, as the murderer almost always kills themselves.

"Funny name," chuckled Larry, our friendly office caveman, "Aeneas."

The eye rolls and face-slaps just fueled his idiotic humour. "What? We were all thinking it, like the Booby bird or Uranus. C'mon, that was funny!"

Desk life also means you are dead. Dead sense of humour, dead sense of life, dead sense of reality. The white walls make you feel like in an asylum, slowly losing sanity. The normal silence makes you want to scream, and the clicking and cold and silence- It's just too much.

Everyone had their eyes on the clock though. It was clicking closer to five, everyone feeling the frantic need for freedom. It seemed to bring us together, like a family. Of course, we weren't. If we were, we would screech at each other about stupid stuff like the air con or all the paper everywhere. But no, no one argues or complains about it. Always under the watch of the man.

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5:00!

The amount of stampeding and hope to storm out of the office was immense. It's zebras and elephants in there.

A small gazelle in the huge fuss, I grabbed my bag and began to rush down the stairs. The overcrowded space made me feel dizzy and dry as they breathed down my neck to find some way out. They really need to build more stairs around here. Or an elevator.

When I made it all the way down, I felt like a cavewoman. Frizzy hair, sweaty dress, aggressive mood. Ah, that'll go away. I hope.

My home was only a couple blocks away from the building, meaning I just needed to walk. Walking, walking, walking. Better get those papers done tomorrow. Must. Must get those papers done tomorrow. See what I mean by a dead sense of life? Most people who walk think about things to do at home or with friends or what they'll do on the weekend but nope, not me. I don't have 'things to do' or have anything 'to enjoy'. It's just work, always work. When will life become less of a boring empty highway and more of a bustling street I see every day in New York? If only life worked that way.

My key, always hidden in the hole of the doorframe, clicked open as I turned it. My apartment consists of the needs of every dead being: the bare essentials. The living room is just a couch, a tv and the kitchen. It does have a table and a chair but honestly, when do I ever use it? I usually rush to get to work anyway.

My bedroom, which is just the room I sleep in, contains a bed and a bedside table. Nothing else. All I need is my tv and my instant noodles. Besides, what else would I want?

Can't wait until I can get out of this stupid job and finally afford go to university. Just 10,000 more dollars to go.

Resting on my head and staring at my ceiling, the vast pool of nothingness swept over me. But why go to university? I mean, what are my interests? Do I really have anything left? Maybe university will help me to find it. I hope it will. Hell, I can't even find myself, so how can a university?

Thud. It came from the door.

Exiting my asylum, a brand new bare essential had entered my chamber: my letters. Most of which consist of, let's see: electricity bill, water bill, rent, a restaurant coupon because I am 'local', which I will never use, and... something new. It was a white envelope with a red stamp. Looked like an emblem. The sender? 'University of New York'.

I just stood there. I haven't paid for anything nor could afford this university. Honestly, if I had money, this would be where I would want to go. Dropping the rest of my mail onto the kitchen counter, I delicately unfolded the university letter. Better not rip the insides. The letter was neat and official, written by someone called Henry Clark. It reads:

"Dear Olivia 'Lis' Greenwood,

We would like to invite you to join a survey currently being recorded by me, Henry Clark, and my team about the current state of office life in North America. While it would be easier for us to send a simple online survey, we are also studying the effectiveness of paper letters. This will also be used as an entry to the university campus upon arrival. We will test you on a simple quiz written on this letter, which you will need to complete before the meeting, and then some practical challenges such as typing, physical stature, relationship statuses and mental state. All the information recorded will become anonymous. The survey will be on the 31st of May, Saturday at 6:00pm.

Any questions will be answered before we begin the practical examination.

Sincerely,
Henry Clark"

I had to read it twice to realise why this letter made me feel so... weird. First of all, they know my name and my job. The only way they would know is if they found me at my job. Could it have been from... him?

A week ago, when I was working, typing, printing, stapling and reading, a man in a black suit came to our workplace and spoke with our boss. The only reason I remember is because after meeting with our boss, he checked everything we were doing. Computer skills, desk ornaments, sense of humour. You can guess what stare Larry got when the man checked him.

"What is your name?" He asked to me, standing next to me, staring at my monitor.

"Olivia Greenwood," I replied hastily. I had a report due, so I barely cared at the time.

After realising that I have nothing interesting on my desk, he asked, "Olivia, do you like work?"

"Well, we have to work, don't we? To live." Now I was typing even faster and more noisily, clashing my fingers onto the keyboard.

When the man heard my response, he sighed and pulled out a chair that was next to me. "Yes, but do you enjoy it? Do you want to go to work, do you like to sit in this chair and type away? Do you have a burning passion to work?"

Before then, I hadn't known that you could enjoy work. So many people had told me that work was boring and everyone hates their job and things like that. Never had I met a person who enjoyed working. I stopped typing and spun on my chair towards the man. Dark skin, brown eyes, serious face, yet he looked empathetic. His ebony hair was tied into a neat braid of braids into a ponytail, letting his forehead show.

"You can enjoy working?" I asked, mystified with the concept of pleasure coming from a white-walled asylum.

Knowing that he had caught my attention, he smiled. "Enjoying work is one of life's pleasures, Miss Greenwood. One day, you will find it. Maybe it won't be here, not in this office, this city, this state or even this country. It could be anything, Miss Greenwood, a carpenter, photographer or builder. You just have to find something that you enjoy."

After that, he asked me about what I was working on, the wide range of jobs I can take and so on. At the end, he said goodbye and continued with the next person. Funny how I remember him so well yet he probably has forgotten me.

After that, I went back to work, typing, reading, clicking, scrolling through all the records, papers, words and all. I hope he is right. I hope that one day, I will find a job i enjoy.

I never knew that that talk could end up as an entry into a survey. Maybe I struck a cord. I don't have to complete the survey if I don't want to, but now I am curious. A conversation about work led to a survey about work. I'm not doing anything this weekend anyway. Maybe I could... try it.

University of New York, 6pm tomorrow.