A False Sense of Serenity

Today was yet another day containing an ongoing hebetude aroma throughout the continuous bunkum of the office. Felix inverted this sense via his pure existence, as he transformed the dull depressive sense into an ambrosial scent of jubilation and appraisal. Felix strode into the incongruous greyscale office building with an everlasting look of beneficence plastered upon his visage. Dirty blond hair and viridescent pupils truly sparked his imagery as well as the obvious gleeful smile implanted upon his face; these facial features were in addition to his personality, both of which protruding ebullience to whomever took a quick glance at him, or spoke a word to await a response. As he passed out the drinks and spread out the food, the work of which a vending machine was far more capable of producing, a mischievous grin sliced apart Alan’s face as he peered down from the security cameras awaiting the satisfaction of firing the self proclaimed happiest employee of the workplace, thriving on all moments of disappointment and feeding on all nanoseconds of despondency. 

For 3 years now, Felix thrived so others could thrive, or so it seemed, as beneath his goody two shoes lay a very dark pair of socks. Nevertheless he continued to prevail in his job of jubilation handing out food and delectation amongst it. For all of the time Felix worked here, Alan did also, an invisible rivalry manufacturing between the pair, for whilst Felix thrived in the world of ecstasy, Alan declined into the realm of tenebrosity. He longed for an escapade from the depressive nature of the security cameras, spying day after day, night after night, and week after week, twiddling his thumbs awaiting Felix to slip up, and expose his true nature. Today that moment came…

Continuing his shift, Felix strode around the 12-story building passing coffees and teas and sometimes even a quick vodka to Guido in the bathroom, (no one really knew who he was, he just lurked amongst the urinals). “Every day is a good day as long as you look for the light,” Felix announced as he finished another floor, receiving cheers, cringed smiles and an occasional pat on the back. No one suspected a thing thought Felix, as underneath his bushy blonde beard an ingenious grin lay reticently awaiting the mass confusion, destruction and devastation upon the eve of Halloween. Alan saw the footsteps before he heard them as a door creaked open revealing Felix standing gleefully holding a chestnut cup of coffee. Nonetheless, Alan new better than to trust Felix, as there was no such thing as a free lunch, hurling the cappuccino out of the window the second the lanky man left, hearing a cry from the streets down below, “WHAT MORON WOULD THROW OUT A PERFECTLY GOOD CUP OF COFFEE?” this daily routine rewarded Alan with the few remaining shreds of humanity he had left in his veins.

With no friends and no family remaining, Alan had learned to watch his back, and to expect the unexpected, for after extensive research, he discovered a dark secret loaming in Felix’s past. A secret that if true could end in disaster. Felix was not Felix after all; instead he was Robert, with a long and dark military background, and a body count higher than Einstein’s IQ. The beginning of the end was near.

Terror submerged upon Alan’s brain, as he could not believe the text appearing before his eyes on his laptop’s cracked screen. Who would believe him? What sane human would believe the word of an alcoholic disappointment of a man? Despite the self-loathing and lack of self-esteem, he arose and strode triumphantly towards the boss’ office, hoping for an end to the false sense of beneficence that was Felix. Whilst Alan never truly got on with the boss, believing he was an imbecilic oaf, he still persevered and sauntered northbound towards his office at the top of the premises, hoping it was not too late, hoping the killings had not already began, for today was 10 year anniversary of Felix’s massacre in Bosnia. Rumours had been spreading for weeks prior to the day of today, rumours consisting of the firing of Felix due to the fact that whilst he performed his job well, and brought joy to all around; joy did not bring him the bread, and a common argument against Felix was that he was a low quality vending machine with a smile. This unwelcome criticism brought a darker mood to Felix, a mood only acknowledged by Alan himself as from the heavenwards view of the security cameras, he distinguished the mischievous small beneath the mahogany beard.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alan saw a large black blur as a suited man fell to the ground, a smash of a coffee mug following as panic arose in the office, and an overwhelming feeling of hullabaloo surged omnidirectional. Alan’s suspicions were unfortunately correct. If his thoughts were true, then Felix’s body count would increase tenfold as thuds were heard from above, below, and all around. Poison remained a definite scapegoat. Foot after foot, Alan sauntered towards the boss’ office, before realizing an obvious flaw in his plan; what boss was he running to? If poison resided in all mugs and cups then he would be the soul survivor of this tragic event. Immediately, Alan turned back towards the everlasting sanctitude of the camera room, only to see a colossal stain of carmine lacerated upon the door handle and the door. Unfortunately the source of the crimson lay in pieces upon the repugnant anaemic carpeting. The next location on Alan’s list of sanctuary was that of the…the… Alan suddenly realised that upon entry of the office block day after day, he never truly left the security room; fright struck his spine like a dagger upon his mentality as he began to sprint towards the front door of the establishment, only to meet a familiar bearded man looming over him, knife in hand, and eyes of dangers upon his visage. 

“Well, no time like the present.” Alan spurted hastily as he flew a punch towards Felix’s stomach, only to be counter blocked with the last thing you’d want to be counter blocked with. Flesh sliced stainless steel as the blade imbedded itself upon his palms, breaking all bones in his right hand and causing an ear-piercing shriek, heard before only after stubbing one’s toe at the worst angle, followed by an incoming war cry of sorts from Alan’s left ear. Guido suddenly emerged from the left, all sorts of office-based weaponry in hand as Felix became a human porcupine, with quills of pencils and pupils of agony. Quite alike Alan, Guido had become suspicious of the pure generosity and beneficence from a man working the life of a dysfunctional vending machine, and had kept track on Felix’s movements acknowledging a somewhat false sense of serenity in the man. After years of acting as a stoned mistake of a man, his undercover work had finally been accomplished and the mass murder known as ‘Felix’ had finally fell to the hands of a HB pencil penetrating his cerebrum and scorning his mentality; allowing him to enter the tenebrosity of consciousness that was death.

A pat on the back and a disgruntled sigh of appreciation were Guido’s prize as Alan plotzed to the ground joining Felix in the realm of expiration away from the mammonism of mankind.