Flux

gave his details to the woman there. Taking a seat, he looked up at the electronic display. The red, scrolling digital letters read, ‘APPROX WAITING TIME : THREE HOURS’. He sighed.
    Ten minutes later, he was called through to a small room where someone took a quick look at his hand before sending him back to the waiting room. There he waited, and waited. The waiting only punctuated by toilet breaks. He was becoming thirsty but the vending machine cost a pound for a coffee and unless he wanted to walk home, he didn’t have a pound to spare. True to the word of the neon sign, it was a little over three hours later when Iain was called into a cubicle.
    With mended hand, Iain thought he’d better call work and let them know he wouldn’t be in, although as it was already approaching eleven o’clock and they’d probably already guessed.
    “You’re not going to believe this!”
    “What’s up, I thought you were coming back today?” Michelle sounded irate.
    “I’m at the hospital.”
    “Is everything OK?” her voice softened a little, but not by much.
    “Yes, fine. I cut my hand. Got three stitches to show for it.”
    “How did you manage that?” a hint of laughter in her voice, not the friendly kind.
    “Cut it on some broken glass, I’ll be in tomorrow, I promise.” He knew it had to be done.
    “I hope so, I’ve finished the temp now and work’s backing up.”
    “Sorry.” And then, “see you in the morning.” He hung up and walked from under the canopy where he’d been sheltering. The rain bounced off his hood.
    “Bitch,” he said out loud to himself, “could show a little sympathy.”
    He got off the bus a couple of stops early; his leg feeling better every day, Iain wanted to exercise it as much as he could. The rain still poured and seeped through his coat as he made his way across the common. Every time he dared look up or around it pelted his face, trickling down his neck. It didn’t matter, he enjoyed being out in the elements, it made him feel alive.
    ***

    Standing on the pavement outside the red brick building, Iain filled with a kind of dread. Not the sudden, stomach knotting kind which materialises when confronted by monsters or demons, but rather the slow, nagging kind when faced with the inevitability of the mundane. One last cigarette before leaving behind his small bout of freedom and re-entering the rat race.
    Nothing had changed, the same grey carpet tiles, the same grey divides and the same rows of fake beech furniture filled the room. The people hadn’t changed either and after two minutes, Iain felt as if he’d never been away. Walking to his desk he felt all eyes upon him but very few people would meet his gaze. He felt slightly uncomfortable. Iain didn’t like being a spectacle for everyone else’s gossip; he knew he looked a state, but didn’t care.
    Leaning down under the desk, he sighed as he turned on the computer and looked around the office while waiting for it to start up. The large chrome clock read seven minutes past nine, late on the first day back, why break the habit of a lifetime, he allowed himself a small weary chuckle.
    “Morning, like the hair!” Jim raised his fingers to his chin, referring to Iain facial growth which still went unshaven.
    “Morning,” Iain grumbled back, less than enthusiastically. He could picture Jim with no eyes and shuddered, looking away and back to his screen.
    His password didn’t work. “Damn.” Why it angered him so much he didn’t know, he must have forgotten it a thousand times before without giving it a second thought. Now he had to go and find Michelle, and she’d know he’d arrived in late.
    Once finally set up and good to go, Iain stared straight ahead; he had no inclination to make small talk with his co-workers, he just wasn’t in the mood. The numbers made less sense than ever, his eyes could see them but his brain refused to focus and wouldn’t register the figures in front of him. He tried to concentrate harder but simply translating numbers from screen to fingers became too tiresome and laborious, even more so than usual.
    You’re out of practice, that’s all it is.
    Brain damaged more like!
    He rose to go to the bathroom, thinking that splashing cold water on his face might revive his concentration. The moment he opened the door, the smell hit him. Someone’s not very well he thought to himself. Moving to the sink, he heard a familiar voice from behind, in one of the stalls.
    “Hello