A Hollow Cry: Chapter One

Chapter One: Kane

Flick. Snap.

Flick. Snap.

The boardroom is exceptionally quiet. What was that saying? Silent as a graveyard? Well, ladies and gents, welcome to our own personal graveyard. Except, there aren't any crumbling headstones or haunted crypts. Just an aged table nestled several stories high in one of the many skyscrapers in this city.

Flick. Snap.

Flick. Snap.

Behind the slatted blinds, the sun sets. The last bits of daylight sink down below the skyline, encasing in the world in a nighttime abyss. We have been waiting for over an hour. It is something we should be used to by now. The transition was endless: seconds into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into even more damn hours. Our time isn't precious to them. We could be waiting here until the end of next week.

Flick. Snap.

Flick. Snap.

"Stop or else I will shove that up your ass."

For most, Griffin's glare would have pinned them scared shitless. And yet, it's taking all I had not laugh at his feeble threat. I snap the lid of the Zippo shut once more. Royce, who stops spinning around in the office chair, flashes me a coy smirk. "I swear watching you two is better than a Spanish soap."

I raise an eyebrow in his direction. "You're still on that kick?"

"You don't know what you're missing out on."

For the past couple of months, Royce has been locked into several Spanish soap operas. He came back one night after finishing up on an assignment, ranting about an episode he had watches while waiting. Binge marathons. Recording episode. Stalking fan theories on the internet. I haven't been able to go a week without hearing about all the drama. If I had known this was going to happen, I would've taken the assignment.

I check the time on my watch. Sadly, it has only been seventeen minutes since I last checked. Pushing off from where I stood against the wall, I stride toward the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Griffin stands up from his seat.

"I don't know what in Hell is taking so long, but I'm over it," I snap, daring him to push the subject. "I'll be in the car." I slam the door shut behind me, not giving him or Royce the chance to stop me. We have been shown time and time again that we are inconsequential. Why should I have to give them the time of day?

I push through the turnstile glass door, stepping out onto the sidewalk. Summer is coming to an end. The air that has been stagnantly humid for months is now turning crisp as night neared. Lighting a cigarette, I take in a deep pull.

Living a life where you are nothing more than shit on the bottom of someone else's shoe makes you learn to take solace in the simplest of things life offers. For me, it's this: the city. Hordes of people walking along the sidewalks - their voices all mixing into a hum. Road rage being amplified through the blaring of car horns. Lights. All the different lights breaking up the shadowed streets. The city meant life. And when this type of atmosphere didn't help, I turn to two of the greatest man made concoctions: whiskey and cigarettes. Some may call them vices, but to me, they are a type of sanctuary. Sanity. Therapy. When your entire world revolves around you existing as a marionette, one can only be expected to handle that sober for so long.

All around me, people wake up and begin their mundane lives. In a place that is vivid and bursting with life, it is easy to see just how many humans take their time for granted. At the end of the day though, there is only one guaranteed fact. No matter who you are, no matter the choices you make, no one makes it out of this world alive.