17:05

As always in the mornings, you wake up two minutes before your alarm. Whilst you appreciate the consistent time, those extra two minutes could make the world of a difference. You could wake up properly refreshed! Wearily, you open your eyes to stare at the ceiling and count the seconds down to the final alarm, refusing to allow yourself to slip back into the bliss of sleep.

At the first beep of your alarm, you stretch out a heavy arm and turn it off, before climbing out of bed and stumbling to the bathroom. As always, you wonder how life could be different, how you could have a job you enjoy, a family of your own - but there’s no time for such thoughts in the morning. You pour yourself a bowl of muesli, and begin the routine of the day. 

It’s three minutes before eight when you arrive at work and head towards the office. As always, you have timed it perfectly so as to avoid unnecessary interactions with your coworkers. You arrive at your desk one minute before eight, and pull up the weather forecast for the coming week. Cloudy, with a chance of rain on Wednesday and Thursday. Nothing abnormal for the current month. 

As the clock hits eight, you begin to work. Endless pages of numbers are on the monitor in front of you, endless information belonging to faces you have no wish to meet. 

When it reaches twelve thirty, you pause your work and take out the cheddar cheese sandwich you prepared this morning. Before consuming the sandwich, you pause and notice the white bread has a hint of blue. This isn’t part of your routine. 

You blink once, twice. You look at your digital watch. It’s twelve thirty-two now. You can feel the discomfort starting to set in, you need to make a decision quickly, or the rest of the day will be out of sync. 

Breathing deeply, you take a bite of the sandwich. And another. It doesn’t taste right, but you force yourself to keep going. It’s twelve forty-three when you finish. You can feel your stomach gurgling, but you can’t tell whether it’s down to the loss of the routine or the discoloured bread. You usually finish eating at twelve-forty precisely, and you still have the red grapes left to eat today. 

As the clock hits twelve fifty you stand up, and walk towards the office break room. If you had timed this as normal this would be a simple trip, but today you know it will be chaos. As you step through the door, you become aware of three pairs of eyes on you. You don’t know the names behind the eyes, nor do you care to, but you know they know you. The eyes belong to two women and one man, who pause in their conversation as you enter the room to refill your one litre water bottle. You fill it carefully, avoiding any spillages. Once you replace the lid you reach towards the towel in order to dry the sides, before leaving the room. 

In the doorway there’s a piece of carpet that sticks out slightly. Usually you’re aware of this, but today you’re preoccupied by the loss of your routine. Next to the door stands the office printer. It replaced the previous printer only two months ago, and many of the office staff don’t yet understand it. 

Your boss calls your name, calling you over. As you approach your foot catches against the carpet, and you stumble, off-balance. The water bottle flies out of your hand, landing against the base of the printer. You scramble to pick it up, flustered, beginning to panic. Just as you make contact with it, you feel a hand on your shoulder and jump, crashing into the printer. A sharp pain radiates down your left side, causing you to yelp. The entire office seems to slow down, heads turning to face you as you lie there on the floor. Everyone looks shocked, then the whispering starts. The pointing, the giggles, the long stares. Your eyes begin to well up, but you refuse to let the tears out. You are stronger than this, you will be fine. You look at your watch. Cracked. The time shines through, twelve fifty-five. You just need to be back at your desk by twelve fifty-nine and your day can carry on. Sure, you won’t have time to use the bathroom today but that doesn’t matter, so long as you are able to begin working by one. The time changes to twelve fifty-six, and then fifty-seven. You can’t bring yourself to move, everyone is still staring. A low buzz is building in your ears, filling your head with noise. A single drop falls down your face.

A hand reaches down to you, a voice is talking. You can’t make out words, but the tone is soothing, comforting. The noise quietens, people start to resume what they were doing. Through blurry eyes, you make out your watch once more. Twelve fifty-nine. Ignoring the hand, you get to your feet unsteadily, breathing carefully. Water bottle in hand, you walk back to your desk, staring at your feet to ensure no more accidents. You’re almost there when your boss calls your name again, slightly louder this time. It’s after one now, you should have been back to work. You freeze, turning around slowly to face him. He’s a short man, short and balding, but his authority fills the room. 

He says your name again, and beckons you to his office. His office is on the opposite side of the room to yours, twenty metres away. You place your water bottle down on the left hand side of your computer, and begin to cross the room. Despite your trembling legs, you make it to the other side of the room at four minutes past one, where you then enter the office and sit in the chair he gestures towards. 

Your boss begins a speech about the importance of working in a team and communicating well with your coworkers. You don’t catch every word, but the tone of his voice tells you that you are failing, that you are a terrible person to work with. That you don’t belong in this company. He drones on, but the buzzing in your ears has returned. You can make out maybe one in every ten words, but you know you can’t lose this job. Your watch says ten past one now, you’ve only been in his office for six minutes but it feels like an hour. 

At fourteen minutes past one your boss dismisses you, sending you back to your desk with a warning. You know the only reason he didn’t fire you was because you manage to produce high quality work, but you need to be back at your desk. You need to be back now. You sit down at sixteen minutes past one, your stomach gurgles uncomfortably once more. 

The computer is switched on, and you begin to scroll through the endless data once more. 

Throughout the afternoon you struggle to catch up. When you finish for the day, you check the time. Three minutes past five. You usually finish at four fifty-eight, allowing for time to refill your water bottle and leave before your colleagues get up from their computers. Today, however, you will have to face the crowds. You wrap your scarf around your neck and head towards the stairs, head down, focusing on getting home. 

Just outside the building, a man walks into you, pushing you off balance and into the wall. Shaken, you walk faster, desperate to get home where you can spend the next hour reading a book and calming yourself. Mondays are for reading books, Tuesdays are for newspapers and the remaining days you use to study various programming languages. When you reach the bus stop, you instinctively check your wrist to see the time. 

Your watch is gone. 

You freeze, breathing becoming shallower. The time on the digital display above the bus stop says five past five, but that can’t be accurate. You usually get the ten past five bus after work, getting you home for twenty past. You back away from the bus stop, scrambling for some sense of normality. Your foot hits the curb and for the second time today you hit the ground. Again, people stop. People stare. 

But this time people scream. 

You feel nothing when the car hits you. 

When you wake up, you keep your eyes shut, counting the seconds. You know your alarm will go off in exactly two minutes, as it always does. When two minutes has passed and there’s no beep, you open your eyes. Maybe you failed to set it last night? 

Instead of the familiar surroundings of your room, you see bright white walls. You hear footsteps, the door opens. A woman walks in, wearing a blue top and trousers. Before she can speak, you look around the room, locating a clock on the far wall. It’s an analogue clock, but judging by the light shining through the window you can tell it’s day time. The clock says eight forty-three. 

You gasp, and the lady looks over at you, seemingly surprised you’re awake. She tells you it’s Wednesday morning, and that you were hit two days ago. 

You look for your watch, this can’t be right. You can’t have missed Tuesday, that would ruin your routine entirely. You shut your eyes, and the lady stops speaking. Only now do you realise that she was speaking very quietly, very softly. As though she was scared to damage you. She tells you that when the car hit, your head took a lot of damage. She tells you that whilst they tried, they couldn’t save the left side of your face. She tells you she’s very sorry that this has happened, that the car was speeding and you were lucky to be alive. 

She leaves the room ten minutes later, leaving you alone. You bring your left hand up to your face, feeling the tightly wrapped bandages carefully carefully. You look out the window and smile. Outside it snows softly, removing every trace of your previous life.

Your life may have lost the routine, but you’ve never felt more hopeful.