It was a Monday like any other. Typical sights, sounds and smells of morning traffic smog and the noise of humanity rushing across the sidewalks, all slaves to the almighty bundy clock. Car horns blaring every now and then in the ordered chaos of Manila's rush hour city streets.
George wasn't rushing like the rest. He walked in careful, calculated strides, always taking time out to smell the 'flowers' of the concrete jungle: the long, damp hair of office girls and coeds that smelled of the morning shower's Creamsilk or Pantene, a whiff of Clinique here, the smell of fresh coffee and donuts there. George was always on the lookout for things that will break his humdrum existence. Things people are too busy to notice but worthy of note nonetheless. He is bored but taking it easy. He knows how to cope.
Just outside his building he saw shards of broken glass and what seemed to be blood stains on the pavement. There was also a yellow police tape cordoning off a portion of the sidewalk. A building maintenance worker is beginning to splash water on the concrete tiles to wash off the blood. He can barely make out the sound of an ambulance van blaring in the distance. He looked up and saw a gaping hole on the glass curtain wall of his building. Must be on the 9th or 10th floor.
He began walking again, overhearing some of the kibitzers who by now are beginning to disperse. It's a suicide, he gathered. He was out to smell the roses. This one smelled of death – and in his own building,
jeez. They say people heard screaming and glass breaking several stories up followed by a loud, dull thud on the ground near where he was standing a while ago. The man landed face first. His face was a shattered mess and pieces of his cranium still lay on the ground along with the congealing blood.
He never understood what would drive someone to take his own life and choose dying a very public death. He found suicides stupid and an inconvenience to others at the very least. Not something to gawk at but at least it's a welcome, if not morbid respite from his everyday boring existence.
He stole a quick glance on his smart watch. It's 8:05 and a text message is waiting for him. Must be his boss who watches everyone's attendance like a drill sergeant. He's always been punctual but makes it a point to be 'refreshingly late' every now and then to break the monotony. He pressed on the envelope icon expecting a "WRU?" message in caps. To his surprise, the text was from an unknown sender, and it read just like that – UNKOWN SENDER. Weird, it should be showing a number unless he saved a number before and tagged it as UNKNOWN SENDER on his address book. The message it said was even weirder:
"DONT GO 2 WORK"
Funny. Who would send him something like this on a Monday? Out of jest he whipped out his Samsung Galaxy S6 and after a brief pause, hit the reply button:
"2 L8, M ALREADY HERE.."
He hit 'send', locked his phone and promptly slid it into his trouser pocket as he entered the building lobby. Same old polished granite tiles. Same old smiling receptionist. Same old stern-looking guard standing by the turnstile near the elevator. Same old crowd of people jostling past the turnstile towards the elevator row. Same old familiar everything.
He swiped his card at the turnstile and the red x became a green check on the display. He went to the nearest elevator and pressed the 'up' button. While waiting, his attention strayed to the big Plasma display hanging in between the elevator doors. This monitor usually shows real estate ads, charity infomercials and occasionally, breaking news from BBC or CNN. Today, the screen was all black and it had a message in bold white letters:
"DONT GO 2 WORK"
He blinked and looked to his left at the guard - who was not there anymore. He checked the monitor again. All of a sudden the lights went out one by one. Before the last light went off he managed to have a quick glance around him.
