Kirk Anderson

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic


this is the first short story i wrote, its about the worst case scenario of an overworked man.

Submitted: November 13, 2017

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Submitted: November 13, 2017

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Kirk Anderson awoke; it was just a dream. He sat up in bed next to his beautiful wife, Barbara. He had dreamed he had lost her, just like he had dreamed the night before and the night before that. He hated these dreams. He had built a quite successful life for himself. After dropping out of college and moving to New York to having climb the corporate ladder of a fortune-500 from working in the basement mail room to moving into his plush corner office on the top floor. His friends and family were all very proud of him, but he could never feel comfortable with his situation because he wanted more. A burning desire and longing for more, never being satisfied, constantly planning and working for what he didn't already have. This dangerous attitude would haunt him for the rest of his life. He lied down and went back to sleep until his alarm went off, then he started his day. He walked down the hallway, crept downstairs and made a pot of coffee, 7:00 am. For the next half hour he sat at the kitchen table and ate his breakfast, studying the tv station so he wouldn't miss any of the stock market on the bottom of the screen. He finished his breakfast and finished his routine: brushed his teeth, took a shower, dropped his daughter Megan off at school, and started his commute to work. When he arrived to work, he was greeted the same way as he had been the day before, and the day before that. He smiled at Judith, his new secretary, and made small talk with Todd, a coworker. He walked into his office, closed the blinds, and collapsed into his leather desk chair. His day had just started, but he was already exhausted. He couldn't stop thinking about the recurring dream he was having nightly. In his dream, he and Barbara would argue about everything. They couldn't get along, and they couldn't agree on anything. She despised him, but he still loved her. These dreams were unusual to him because he and his wife had a great marriage. They had met in high school and she had stuck by him through everything he had gone through. They were best friends, and there were no problems between them. 9:00 meeting, 10:30 client appointment, 1:00 lunch with his executives, 3:45 meeting, a stack of paper work a foot high; he still couldn't forget the dream. His thoughts were going in a constant cycle. He'd ask himself, "'What am I doing wrong?' Nothing. 'Have we been fighting?' No. 'Have I given her enough attention?' Yes. 'Am I hurting her?' I don't think so." He couldn't stop thinking about it, and it distracted him the entire day. 5:00 pm finally came around, but he couldn't bring himself to go home. He hadn't finished his work, and if he didn't finish his work he wouldn't be productive, making him the average worker. The thought scared him, but in a way he enjoyed. He loved to tell himself that because it always got him motivated enough to finish his work. Now he was back in business. One file done, two files done, 6:00. Three files done, four files done, 7:20. His work is done for the week, it's only Wednesday. He doesn't want to stop. If he stops someone else will do it, when someone else does it he becomes expendable, when he's expendable he's like everyone else: average. This thought drives him more. He turns his phone off and returns to his work, 8:00. He looks at prospective work and thinks about solutions to hypothetical problems that may occur, 8:45. His mind wanders, but he keeps bringing it back to focus on work. At 9:00 he looks at the clock on his wall; something doesn't feel right. He finishes up the next week's work, 9:32. He turns off his computer, puts on his coat, and walks out the door. He walks out of the empty building and locks the doors. He get in his car and starts his commute back home. Sitting in backed up traffic, he turns his phone back on. It erupts with texts and missed calls from Barbara, his sister, his mother, Megan, his neighbor. The texts don't stop coming in. The notification goes on and off the screen so fast he can't even read what they say. His phone's battery can't take all of the messages and shuts off. He throws it in frustration, something's wrong. He recklessly drives home, with the worst case scenarios in his head: his mother passed away, his house was robbed, Barbara was mugged, his elderly neighbor had a heart attack. He drives himself crazy trying to figure out what the problem could be. He pulls into his driveway, 10:05. He gets out of the car and rushes to the door of the house. Shaking, he gets the key in the door. The house is deathly quiet. He turns on the lights in the kitchen, everything looks fine. He plugs in his phone and turns it back on, anxious about what is going to be on it. The messages start again: Barbara, Barbara, Barbara, his sister, his neighbor, the list went on. The only ones he wanted to look at were from Barbara. He can finally read them: Where are you? Come home now! Hurry!! Please come home! This is serious. Something's wrong, call me ASAP Why won't you answer? But the concerning one was the last one: I'm at St. John's Hospital with Megan, there was an accident. Please come immediately. He was scared. He was angry. He couldn't forgive himself for letting his ego and fear of failure get in the way of a possibly life-changing problem. He rushed outside without locking the door, got in his car and sped off, 10:15. He pulled into the St. John's Hospital parking lot, 10:25. He jogged inside. Panting and light headed, he repeated to the nurse at the front desk "Anderson....Anderson.....Anderson....where's Anderson??.....is there an Anderson here?...Anderson." The nurse told him she couldn't help him because visiting hours were over. "Please," he begged, "someone in my family is hurt and I need to find out why." She sat there, contemplating what she should do. "Please," he cried. She gave into his request and told him the room. When he got to the room he found Barbara on the bed sleeping next to Megan, who was hooked up to machines. He sat down next to them, and looked at his daughter with tears swelling in his eyes. He couldn't believe what he saw: his young daughter had been stabbed by someone or something for some reason, unknown to him. He sat in the room crying, thinking of what could've been done, when he realized what he was forgetting earlier; he forgot to pick her up from school. Trapped in the silence of the night, he sat by himself and tried to piece together what could've happened and arrived at the conclusion that it was completely his fault. She called and texted him until she gave up on trying to reach him. She walked to the subway by herself, and then was mugged and stabbed in her vital organs by someone who didn't care if she lived or died. It was his fault she was going to die. He broke down and cried, 11:00. Barbara woke up and confirmed his story as accurate. She also explained to him why she couldn't be with hum anymore because he had let her down in too dramatic of a way. If she were to stay with him, she would only be reminded of the biggest heartbreak she would ever face; she was filing for divorce. Kirk, heartbroken beyond repair, returned home. He walked into the house to find it empty other than a single chair; his house had been robbed. He didn't care anymore. It didn't matter to him all that he had earned was taken from him, his life was in ruins. His wife was gone, his daughter was gone, his worst nightmares had come true. He turned the light on in his kitchen and sat on his chair in silence, 11:35 pm. Kirk Anderson awoke; it was just a dream.


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