1+1=0

June 8th 3:00 am

My tongue is so brittle. I can feel the tip of it lop off, visualize the pink cracked pieces on the bleach white work desk, but it never happens. My stomach moans deeply, my hunger exploding into an ache. Despite this setback, I smash the keyboard with an active fist to keep myself awake. The computer flashes on, the bright light prying my crusty eyes to be as wide as saucers. My pupils dilate to the cramped text on the screen and my hands start to wile up, tap-tap-tapping the keys. Simultaneously, the hurt embedded in my gut wails in agony, craving food. My mind darts to the subject of a snack, but in a single second I'm back to the paper I need to write, tiny words roughly pulling me away from a much needed cup of coffee, just a few meters from my counter.

After a while, I feel a bit dizzy, the Times New Roman size 10 font flooding my squinted slit-like field of vision. I hold my head, my palm instantly wet with humid sticky sweat. Oddly, I begin to like it, my now clammy hand gradually tangling into my muggy muck brown hair. I sigh, my fingers continuing to slosh around the strands, the growls of my tummy dissolving as I relax my shoulders from their stiff position. It was almost unreal, almost ethereal, as if that type of feeling was left untouched. All my stressed tightness let loose into a spiral, a spiral of nonsensical emotions, music blazing, colors flying, scents of a unknown something kissing my swallowed cheeks.

It was exhaustion.

June 8th 5:40 am

"Wake up!" The irritating trill of my manger Jack's screams tore through my consciousness, willing me to wake. I blink twice at my familiar surroundings— the desk, the computer and the empty cup of coffee—then turn my attention to the fellow employee.

"Are you done with the report yet, Toya?" He sneers, his triangular teeth forming a snooty crescent.

"Y-yeah..." I mumble, still not in my proper coffee-fueled-morning-ready-for-my-job spirit. Groggily, I brush my yellowing nails over the perfect white wood, pressing the enter button."Here you go," I say, making a single step to get out of my chair when Jack yells, "THERE'S NOTHING HERE!"

I jump in my seat, "What do you mean it isn't here?" I question in panic, frantically clicking the enter key, gazing at a blank screen, "It was right h—?"

Jack puts his hands on his hips, "So? Where is it?" He snorts, "We don't want the boss to get mad, do we?"

"It's gone," I whisper, tears stinging my teabagged eyes. He examines me for a second, slamming his hand on the table with finality and silently turning to leave.

"Irresponsible wretch," He murmurs under his breath, marching off like a military soldier.

With my legs as dead as limp weeds in budding garden, I walk to the attendance board, stamping my time in, the empty coffee cup in my grasp. I slide the cup under the machine. Rather musically, the coffee drizzles in, calming my nerves, bringing back that pure, refreshing feeling.

No. I think as I burn my dry tongue on a gulp of hot coffee, The reason the report is gone is because your hand slipped onto the backspace key when you fell into your stupid stupor.

I take another sip of coffee much more slowly and tentatively, letting the sour bitterness give me a taste of reality as well as a energetic buzz. Within a moment, I was ready to work, a robot ready to fulfill my boss's and manger's high expectations.

So back to work I went, my hands fluttering over the keys my mind in sharp focus as I try to conjure up what I wrote before. I squint at the screen, shake my mouse and bring my face to the blank screen, but my mind is still clouded, unable to remember what I typed up the night before. My head is a crossword without any of the answers filled in, only with the faintest hints of clues. I type whatever TV static comes to me about the report, doubting every letter with stinging guilt.