As he reluctantly stumbled out of bed, running into every possible obstacle between the bedroom and the bathroom, he was hardly aware of his surroundings. The sky was gray and dim today, and the little overcasted light that shone shined through his large, bolted window served to illuminate the room as he drew the curtains, dispelling the shadows from the nooks and crannies of his room. The room was disgustingly disorganized; a beer can lay half-crushed on the floor; books lay strewn about; and a vast variety of writing supplies and papers blotted out the thick, brown shade of his mahogany desk.
Glenn brushed his teeth in an orderly, even robotic manner. He passed the toothbrush back and forth, back and forth. As he did so, he stared blankly in the mirror. He noticed the boringly monochromatic towel that rest upon a dulled towel rack. His eyes darted around the sides of the mirror, never resting too long upon any one point, and yet never resting upon the center of the mirror either. While he was staring into the mirror, the reflection pierced into him, ferociously impaling him with a feeling of disgust. Glenn wondered why he had never realized just how uncomfortable it was to look at himself for a long period of time until he looked in his mirror. The longer he stared into the mirror, the more distorted the images appeared, until he began to see himself, twenty years younger, staring boldly back at him with the steely glint in his eyes when he was young and strong. The memories of that bygone time were too much for him, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He blinked, and the image was gone.
As he walked into the kitchen and prepared a quick breakfast, Glenn grabbed the TV remote. In the small apartment where he lived, the kitchen was connected to the living room, with a small table in between where he sat down to eat. He turned on the television to the morning news, and pouring himself some milk to accompany his usual assortment of scrambled eggs, bacon, and bread. After finishing a broadcast on some disaster that occurred somewhere, the news anchor then began a story about the latest development at Aurora Technologies, one of the largest companies in the high-tech industry, producing all things innovative from artificial intelligence to new smart devices. Glenn worked at Aurora, but he was decidedly old-fashioned to be working at a company whose mission it was to usher in the technologies of tomorrow. For Glenn was not an innovator or an engineer, the two roles that were the heart and soul of the company, but instead just a simple accountant, spending all day examining numbers with a high amount of required precision. It was a miracle the company had not yet replaced his occupation with a computer. After all, what was there for this mechanically monotonous man that a computer could not accomplish a thousand times better?
It was halfway through that news story that Glenn froze. On the television was the ridiculously fake complexion of his ex-wife Linda, talking about a new product launch, no doubt. The screen became flashing lights and the sounds around him melted away as he began to reflect on his disastrous marriage which had concluded just over three years ago. There was a time, twenty years ago, when everything had seemed perfect. Never-ending summer days washed away by frozen desserts and visits to the beach; sitting under the great oak tree and sharing childhood memories as the greenery around them faded to shades of brown and gold; sharing some hot chocolate in the comfortable little house that was cradled by the blizzard outside; and best of all, lying down in an open field, staring at the wispy clouds that passed by as the flora around shined again, teeming with life. But then, ten years ago, Glenn had moved to the city to get a job at Aurora, at the time just a small company with big dreams. The variety of nature’s seasons dissolved with his relocation, and Mother Nature’s palette of vivid colors dissipated into gray. A smothering feeling, almost like a disease, ran virulent within the unknown reaches of his mind, and Glenn’s cheerful demeanor vanished like an apparition.
It was then that he must have changed. Like the city he now lived in, he became apathetic and exacting of himself. His sharp personality vanished within barely a year’s time. For a while, this was admirable. Friends praised him on his immense ability to stay focused for long periods of time, and were amazed by how effectively he could work the most menial jobs without ever complaining. Co-workers nicknamed him “Glenn-Bot” in admiration, and managers frequently gave him raises. But as time passed and people began to interact with him more often in the office, they found him to be uniquely drab. He could barely speak a few lackluster words in a conversation before the flow of dialogue was dead and the atmosphere descended into an uncomfortably loud silence. Linda Stevens was a very kind woman, and she was exceptionally understanding too. But after seven long years of this torturous ennui, she too gave in. There must be some animal instinct, some primal urge from the far depths of the mind that forces humans to live a life greater than the mere survival of animals. The same urge that fueled human development and innovation for millenia surged within Linda, and however unwillingly and troubled, made the decision to dissolve their union.
In the wake of these events, Glenn became even more reclusive. He thought that Linda had understood him best and known what was happening, and might have even been able to save him. He held on strongly to this belief. And so when the divorce happened and his life was shattered, the basic tenets of his existence were undermined. He sank into a void of his own creation, disappearing beneath the lights that once illuminated his face with color, drowning in the pale shadows that overtook them. The eviscerating process that had begun with the shift into the city concluded subtly. He was no more than a zombie; dead without being dead.
And so, Glenn put on one of many matching suits, carefully walked down nine flights of stairs, and walked the same eighty-seven paces to the bus stop. He sat on the bus with his suitcase and looked out the window. The same assortment of shops that he saw every day flew by him. A variety of shops and services colored the two sides of the streets. At the corner of Main Street and Seventh Street the bus stopped, and Glenn’s co-worker Gregg, one of the only people who still talked to him, got on the bus. Gregg, seeing an empty spot right next to Glenn, sat down, beaming with a radiant smile. The two of them were in stark contrast to each other. Though both men were similar in age, Glenn looked much older than he was, and Gregg looked much younger than he was. Glenn wore a tired, sinking look on his face, while Gregg appeared constantly energetic, as if he was ready to run a marathon. Glenn kept his posture strictly rigid, while Gregg was restlessly fidgeting yet comfortably reclining.
Gregg, of course being his amiable self, commented on Aurora’s latest innovation and the brilliance of the team Linda had led when he was silenced by a slight twitching in Glenn’s face. Naive (and even childish sometimes) as he was, he knew the limits well, and could muster some degree of control over himself. A rapid switch of subject to the latest events in the sports realm quelled the twitching, and Gregg breathed a small sigh of relief in knowing that he had narrowly averted a crisis. Gregg felt sure that Glenn was bottling something up, and yet some unimaginably torturous force was keeping him from opening up. But he knew not how to help, and so he always attempted to dodge the dangerous conversational topics when around Glenn.
But even with this immensely friendly conversationalist by his side, Glenn maintained his taciturn attitude. His mind was on other things. He looked out the window again, looking at everything but seeing nothing. He heard the sounds of the city, the cacophony of traffic, the hum of the bus’ engine, the voices of the bus passengers, the voice of Gregg talking about some athlete setting some record, the voice of his own body muttering occasional meaningless responses to the endless stream of chatter.
Glenn exited the bus, and walked into the shining skyscrapers of Aurora Technologies. It was another day. A bright, sunny day. A day that would have filled anyone but Glenn with joy. But as he entered the office, face frozen like the cold stare of a worn-away statue, he felt no joy. He took an elevator ride upwards, and shambled over to his desk. He sat down and started to chip away at that day's work.
For the longest time, he had taken solace in his work. Work had been the one thing he had taken solace in. It was simple. He understood it. It was straightforward. He was comfortable with it. Compared to the maelstrom that the rest of his life had become, his work was the one thing that he found no chaos with. But recently, Glenn felt a shift in the air. The weight of more disapproving stares was weighing on him. And these were not just colleagues. These included the managers and overseers. At first Glenn did not realize, but he was soon finding the disapproval uncomfortable. He was not particularly important to the company. He did not belong to the brilliant minds who paved the future. He was just another cog in the machine.
Once, he had thought himself capable of great and creative things. But the prerequisites of being a creative mind required the courage to challenge fate--posing a challenge to the world and stating one's position firmly, and seeing their projects through to the end. Glenn lacked his courage. He opted for a safe route in accounting in order to guarantee a decent existence in the future. Back then, things had been so great. He'd had fun and enjoyed life, with a circle of friends around him. Where were those friends now? Glenn blanked. He'd remember that Luke moved away in pursuit of his dreams, that Sidney had found employment somewhere else in the city, and that Mark went to go work with the government. They'd all gone their separate paths after college. They vowed to make it big one day. They swore they would rise above the ranks of the ordinary and prove themselves all to be famous, but in the end it seemed that no one made it to be bigger than the town they lived in.
And soon, the work day ended. Frivolously, many people left and went home. Glenn took the slow strides back to the bus. Gregg had gone out drinking with other colleagues, so Glenn sat, leaning against the window for the whole ride home. He looked out the window at the same shops, most of which were getting ready for the nightly customers who went there.
The same winding-down routine awaited him when he returned to the bus stop. Eighty-seven paces back. Nine flights of stairs. Though it was dinnertime, Glenn was not hungry. Instead, he roamed the rooms of his apartment, feeling an increasing painful throbbing somewhere deep within him. Waves of cold sweat followed this. Soon, inexplicably, he had begun to shake.
He felt some immense tension within him. It was indescribably suffocating. Something begged to be let out. In a moment of weakness, Glenn gave out to the urge, and picked up a chair, charging at the window. Time seemed to slow down.
The window shattered, and there was a brief moment of pain as angry shards of glass exploded everywhere.
The chair broke, and lay in pieces on the ground.
Glenn looked out the window, and the fresh air seemed to quell his rage.
Head throbbing, he saw a bird flying through the night air.
The city remained ever busy below.
He climbed a little bit out of the window.
The bird, interested, perched on his shoulder.
What freedom this bird had! It was free to go wherever it desired. It could fly...
And as a mass of different emotions overcame Glenn, he too wanted to fly. So he did. And in that moment, just for a moment, there was glory, success, and triumph in his hollowed eyes.
Only for a moment, as he charged through the glass panel, did he feel free again. And he decided to take back this freedom for the rest of his life.
And the rest of his life was indeed very free.
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