BoReD aT wOrK
The last contact she had was a text message, 11.32am: "BORED, Bored, bord, brd, b…"
She hadn't bothered to reply.
He was supposed to meet her for lunch at 1 but never showed. She called his mobile several times but it was switched off. Calls to his office number went straight to voicemail. She assumed something urgent had come up, nothing for her to fret about. She sat in the park and ate her sandwiches alone.
At 6 he was supposed to pick her up to take her home. He still hadn't called. His mobile was dead and the office phone still on voicemail. She decided to walk to his building. She knew the route he'd take so she could keep a look out for him.
She arrived to find the entrance deserted. It was after normal hours so the receptionist's would have been long gone, but there was no security guard either. The doors were open though, so she went in and called the lift.
Floor 3. She'd been here before. He'd shown her around the cubicles they all worked in. She remembered the hum of PC's, the smell of strong coffee.
The hum was still there, screen savers flicking across the monitors facing the lift. But the people were gone. No sounds of typing. No phone conversations. No signs of life. Empty.
She walked left, down 3 rows and then in to the second cubicle. His.
Neat, tidy, deserted.
Except, scrawled across the desk, in a lurid aerosol spray - Macdafun.
