Matthew spends the night by the dim natural light gradually seeing more than the light tracing the rain dribble across his page as the dark skies turn just to grey. He doesn't move fast or rush around. His body has forgone any tiredness or aches from his sinuses. His heavy eyes are now a state of mind that by a click of his mind can be held at a certain height. Although his mind is in a daze desperately craving rest and his body desiring more oxygen it stills works and moves at some capacity. Yet his mind is still a carnival. He is surviving just. There isn't choice; there is no real freedom because he has had the same day for months. Light and dark have come and gone and he has seen almost every hour of it. The only thoughts that hold him are of Beth and that first moment of meeting her. He pins his hope on being able to sleep soon and relax for the first date. As the bright grey of day holds itself high he drags himself into the kitchen. Food is his main life source, the only thing that keeps him moving. Despite putting four pieces of bread in for toasting, a large bowl of Cornflakes and banana, and a coffee mug size of tea, he still relies on artificial stimulants. His mind still rushing, underpinned by the belief that once he is tired enough he will surely sleep uninterrupted, while slowly and surely shovelling in his routine food. Neither its taste nor a day of PR can snap him out of his zombie like character.
The day's monotony still holds true as he dazes towards his mission of getting into work. No one really needs to move as like a fish in a school, the rest will carry you on regardless. The tempo is set, and despite some overly eager people bursting through the force field wanting to be on the front line, the crowd moves on at the same pace. The rain has stopped pelting down, yet the floor's water still will not shift. Mother Nature's moisture has instead clumped together in the air giving the atmosphere a wet mist and a damp that is unable to shift like the cold clammy feeling of a damp house in winter. Clothes' material is fly paper to the clustered droplets and when inside an office the water seeps off you and drips away like fat from a George Foreman grill. Matthew enters his building with as much enthusiasm as a cow to the back of a market lorry.
Just before he walks into the large constant rolling doors his minds blanks and sound of the city is submerged under the rain. All he can here is the droplets of water falling from the sky knocking off its concrete destination. His mind blanks apart from this noise and he breathes sharply in. As he walks through the rolling doors he exhales at pace and picks up his walking speed. The building is high and built like a late Nineties architectural triumph. Its heart pushes for space as its body is made entirely of windows. The glass reflects what light there is, it beams out like a metropolitan life house with its light warning of close danger. Inside is a shared existence of a few different companies. Matthew passes through accountants, graphic designers and a press agency before reaching his work. The inside of the office is designed to be minimalist but with the amount of desks becomes very cramped and claustrophobic. Its low ceilings trapping and reflecting the noise makes it unbearable for anyone who wants to just listen. As Matthew passes through the rigours of security, stupidly raised to intense airport levels after America's 'War on Terror', he becomes ready for the lift. He has ten levels to go up. All workers wait for the lift with individuality, personalities, their own histories and what only the Americans would say 'spunk'. All this life is then packed and neatly tidied into the lift. The constant movement of the lift sends its riders into a hypnotic haze. All find themselves transfixed on one point of the lift. Sometimes it can be the floor, sometimes the wall but for the hypnotic red electricity beaming through the level meter holds all and tells them what they need to know. 1...2...3...4...5...6... The lift rises draining away everything that makes these workers themselves. First goes the energy and life; then it takes away personality and speech; last to go is a person's individuality before it is all repackaged into the capitalist company philosophy. His PR Company like the military prepares its soldiers for battle:
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Floodlights
RomanceStuck in a rut and weighed down by a disastrous huge moment in his past, frustrated writer Matthew must confront his demons and take control of his repetitive nightmares to save his hometown football team, win the game and the girl.
