THE PAUL PAULSON STORY
Another take on fiction from yours truly
Paul is a new character I’m working on. Enjoy Chapter 1 of THE PAUL PAULSON STORY”
I. AFTER
The sky’s tint seeped through Paul’s teeny window. The space was the smallest room in his new apartment, but lounging in a confined space put him at ease. He raised a glass of iced tea to his mouth and exhaled as he flipped the page of the city’s latest art magazine.
It was quiet, the sun was setting. His record player hummed the tunes he remembered from his childhood, and his eyes fluttered shut, just for a minute. He had nowhere to be on that evening, no events. His lips were cooled by the tea, his stress melted down the small of his back. He was home.
II. BEFORE
The armrests of the assigned chair in cubicle #435 were peeling. Feeling the plastic raised his heart rate. He was sitting down, but it felt like he was running on a hamster wheel. The superstrength deodorant he bought was doing him no favors. He felt tacky, like every part of his body was glued together and his legs were one solid mass. Gravity was about to take him down. He could feel it.
From the ether outside the cube, he heard his name. Paul. PAUL. The third time, it sounded more like PAWWWWWWWL. He could feel the presence of his boss, a short man with horrible features, making his way towards the rows of cubes.
Paul gritted his teeth. He hated looking at his boss because he was ugly. He had layers of plaque on his teeth. He had hair sticking out of his nose. Paul swiveled around in the cheap chair, trying to avoid the gaze of the man who approved his timesheets. The enthusiastic grin on his face made Paul’s stomach gurgle. The boss always looked eager. Excited even. Like everything was so WONDERFUL ALL THE TIME. LIKE THERE WAS NOTHING THAT COULD COME CLOSE TO BEATING A DAY’S WORK AT LARGE CORPORATION #20394.
He was beginning to regret the cream cheese toast he ate earlier that morning. He took one look at the plaque and felt like he was going to vomit. God, Paul felt like it was on his own teeth at that point.
“Paul, are you ready for our staff meeting boy-o? Areya?!” His boss held the key to his life, unfortunately. The new regulations were here to stay, and as much as Paul really wanted to off himself, he had to comply.
I’m ready for the staff meeting, Paul tried to say. He parted his lips, he tried to speak. He really did. He couldn’t even lean on the armrests to steady himself because they were basically peeled off. He couldn’t confirm or deny that he was ready, all he could do was nod, stand up and follow his boss down the hall.
They trudged through the cube maze, making what felt like unnecessary turns to the boardroom. When they found their way and entered the conference space, he quietly retreated to the back corner where low level staff had to sit. Even though he was required to be there, it was the only place in the office he knew all eyes weren’t on him.
His Boss’s Boss was fiddling with a new computer from Mega Corporation 3, waiting for the serfs to pile in to the overstuffed room. “The goldfish are swimming,” he yelled out at Mary and Lynn-Ann, which was actually better than the “make room for the little piggies” comment that Diane and Rosemary received. The Boss’s Boss “loved” animals. His favorite movie was BABE and his favorite book was, ironically, Animal Farm.
Paul was pessimistic about this meeting. Things were bleak. For starters, the numbering of all the corporations and the revamped data jobs everyone seemed to automatically have were just “a streamlined way to improve profits.” No one did “marketing” anymore. They just typedtypedtypedclckclckclcked into datasheet after datasheet all day long. “Everything is going ACCORDING TO PLAN!” yelled Boss’s Boss. “Nothing can stop Large Corporation #20394 from being the best Large corporation in The World!”
This was the entire meeting. There was no plan, no questions. Just “we will win” a game that could only have losers. Besides Boss’s Boss, of course.
Boss’s Boss said a few more things about success and winning, swimming with the sharks, it’s a dog-eat-dog world. The usual hyperbole. Paul was daydreaming about his next break when they were dismissed and instructed to file out of the glass room.
His manager had approved his online request to take his meal break after the meeting. Earlier, when he saw the digital notification come through to his own computer, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He just had to make it to lunch.
Now, he was halfway through another day. Paul was relieved they still let people bring in their own lunches and didn’t force them to go next store to Medium Corporation #12404. He was absolutely devastated when they banned cold drinks from the office. Ice was a luxury now that water was in short supply. Sure, he missed throwing ice in a steel water bottle and it clinking around in there. But what Paul really craved was the hibiscus iced tea from TeaSpot. AHhhhhhh. The hibiscus iced tea. TeaSpot was now Small Corporation #401935 and they, by law, could only served hot drinks with milk.
He opened his lunchbox and managed a small smile. His pressed turkey sandwich on ciabatta with a side of cucumber salad was his reprieve.
He sat in the corner apart from the other workers. Paul preferred to read during his forty-five minutes of solidarity instead of staring at a another small screen. Everyone else scrolled on Apps #403, #231 and #572. There was no point in pretending to fit in at a job he knew he would lose soon. Everyone thought he was a freak. There was no way he was going to remain employed by Large Corporation #20394, he was not focused on profit margins or success or swimming with sharks. He much preferred art and culture, not that there was much of that in the city anymore. There were a couple things he could get his hands on during good months, months when the artists were outside in the streets peddling their wares before they were shooed away and sent back to wherever they all cohabitated.
He savored his sandwich and flipped through his magazine. He loved seeing people make beauty out of the whacked out world. Portraits in charcoal were his favorite. He dedicated time to each page, pouring energy into thinking about each piece and what is was saying. He was studying the most thrilling water color when the bell rang.
Back to his cube he trudged, his lunchbox sagging by his side.
Once in his cube, he went to return his magazine to the safety of his belongings. He beelined for his messenger bag under the desk, only to find the strap stuck under the wheel of his disintegrating chair. He huffed, trying to get it unstuck with his sneaker. He shuddered at the thought of touching the bottom of his chair, but he had to free his bag. After a strong yank, it unhooked itself, spewing folders and papers and printed datasets over the floor. Paul sighed. Something like this could cost him a demerit. He couldn’t be caught in his cube not working during work hours. He was shuffling papers as fast as he could when something caught his eye.
A faded index card was sticking out of the edge of a purple manilla folder he kept important documents in. He wondered where that possibly could have come from. Paul was meticulous; he didn’t miss things like that. He was a type-a observer. Surviving in the world depended on his impressive attention span.
He looked behind him, then to each side. He carefully grabbed it and held it furtively in his palm.
“FREE YOURSELF. COME TO THE BETTER PLACE. THE PURPLE LAND”
Paul flipped it over. 1155 Coleman Avenue was all it said.
His stomach lurched. Now he was regretting the cream cheese toast and the sandwich. He wasn’t sure what to do with this information. He didn’t even know where Coleman Avenue was.
He closed his eyes. He thought of peace, of hibiscus iced tea. There was only one thing left to do. He sat down in his chair, turned on his screens and started typing.
When he was dismissed from work at 6 PM sharp, he elected to take the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. “That’s my guy there, Paul!” yelled his boss from the crowd of released employees. “Get those steps in King!” There was that plaque again. It was visible from the other side of the room. Paul managed to throw up a hand and wave as he concentrated on not throwing up in his own mouth.
He reached the parking structure and climbed into his car. Shutting the door, clicking his seatbelt, he slowly drove out of the garage, drove one mile under the 25mph speed limit and idled a block away on the street.
It was here that he allowed himself ten seconds of a guttural scream, like usual.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHIFUCKINGHATETHISMYLIFEKISRUINEDAHHHHHHHHH”
Now, he could think clearly. He looked both ways to make sure he wasn’t being watched and took the card out of his back pocket. “1155 Coleman Avenue,” he read out loud. His heart was beating a mile a minute. It felt as intense as when he ran the marathon sixteen years ago, a day he swore he would never forget. Back when there were community events and structure outside of the workplace. This was the most exhilarating moment he had had in months.
Paul knew that there was risk to going to 1155 Coleman Avenue. There might be police there who would send him home. He wasn’t allotted any more social events outside of a corporation this month. He used one on his sister’s birthday party at her house (waste of time) and another going to his college roommate’s apartment to lament his divorce with him (waste of time.) He wouldn’t get another 2 in-home social event tickets until next month. He caught a glimpse of himself in his mirror. He was still young, even though he’d be 35 next week. He wasn’t throwing himself a party because he knew people wouldn’t want to waste their own tickets on him, and he sure as hell didn’t want to give any more money to Large Corporation #4023.
He creased the card in his palm. He knew he wanted to go. It was a question of would he.
Paul put the car in drive, and, driving 1 mile under the speed limit, set off to see what the fuss was all about.
When Paul turned onto Coleman Avenue, he felt his stomach do a flip. He knew he shouldn’t be there. It took every ounce of bravery in his body to drive down the block. The only buildings he saw were corporate offices. He was afraid this was all a big prank, a way to get him in trouble, fired for real.
1105, 1125, 1147, 1165. He made it to the end of the block and there was no 1155.
“What a waste of time,” he groaned, although he was mostly relieved nothing worse happened. There were still no laws that could get him in trouble for driving. He was frustrated with himself for allowing this type of risk to be taken. He put the car in reverse and backed up, preparing to turn around and head home. As soon as he switched gears to drive forward, he lost control of the car. The wheel began to turn itself. He was paralyzed with fear as the car began to drive him forward at an alarming rate. Suddenly, the street opened up and all he could see was a giant sinkhole in the road he had just driven over. He was nearly blinded by light as the car forced its way down the hole in the ground. Paul was falling and screaming and trying not to throw up when the car found the ground and slowed to a stop. It was over as soon as it happened.
He was still screaming when he nervously opened one eye. He saw the purple glow of sunset once again, even though it had been dark before he left work. It was here that he saw his car had ended up parked neatly between two others on what appeared to be a carbon copy of his city’s downtown, before the new regulations drove them out.
All his belongings were still with him, nothing about the car was different. It was then that he realized, people were walking around. Without purpose. Someone jogged by the car and he almost jumped. He hadn’t seen a jogger in years. Where could he be?
Paul’s hesitance to get out of the car was exacerbated by the fact that everything looked normal. What could have possibly happened? He rooted around in his bag until he found his detestable small screen. He powered it on and saw that the plain gray screen wallpaper had been replaced by a photo of him and his dog on a camping trip he took 10 years ago. That sent him into a spiral.
Without giving himself time to second guess his decisions, Paul bolted out of the car. He nervously paced down the street and as he made it to the sidewalk, he could see that every storefront had a name again. “Lucy’s Candies,” “Main Street Jewelers.” He couldn’t believe it, even as he saw it, but there it was. “TeaSpot.”
Paul could feel himself choking back tears. This had to be a dream. He was not living in reality. He panicked and swung open the door to TeaSpot. When he approached the counter, a young woman was behind it, wearing a t-shirt with a smiley face. He almost cried. She took one look at him and perked up.
“Sir, are-are you okay? What’s wrong? Can I help you?”
All he could muster was a weak, “where am I?”
She smiled. “You’re in Roku City. Welcome.”
Loved and need Chapter 2 asap