All Clouds Part

His alarm went off at 7. He got up the instant the first beep left the phone. The slightest sound would make him wake up with a start. That was just how it was these days.

Annoyed, he grabbed the blaring device and swiped up.

"Just 30 more minutes..."

He set a new alarm for 7.30 and dozed off again.

When the alarm rang next, he turned it off while thinking that he didn't have much time. Why couldn't he get up on time? Why didn't he sleep earlier? Why could he not just accept that his circadian rhythm was disrupted, and set the alarm later?

Too many questions. He'd handle them some other time. He idly scrolled through a few reels while brushing with the other hand. His beard was scraggly... didn't he promise himself he'd shave today? Ah well, there wasn't enough time anyway. He'd do it in the evening. Fortifying himself for the day ahead, he set off to work.

As he headed down the streets, the same ones he walked down for the last ten years, he was struck by a strange thought. As a child, he would know every nook and cranny of his neighborhood, inside and out. This city was very similar to his home town, being just 50 kilometers away. The people, the environment, the "vibe"... how he hated that word... they were all the same. Why was it that this place still felt so foreign to him, a decade later?

Too many questions. He'd handle them some other time. Wouldn't he?

A man in rags, with one arm missing, wailed "Sir! Can you spare some change? 50 cents is all I ask!"

He was moved enough to spare a second thought to the beggar.

"I don't have enough time... someone else will probably give him the change he needs."

He knew it wouldn't happen. Everyone on this street, in this country, on this blasted planet, was as apathetic as he was. None would raise a finger to help the distressed invalid.

"Maybe I CAN help him... wait till noon and tell my boss about this homeless guy who was on the verge of death..."

A sudden wave of self-disgust enveloped him. He hadn't, no, would never, stoop THAT low. It was followed by a spark of surprise... surprise that he could still feel.

He reached into his pocket, aiming to pull out his earphones, listen to some music, get his mind off things. He didn't notice the signal turn red, and continued walking across the road. A bus whizzed past him, not two inches away, moving at a breakneck speed. Literally, if he had been a step ahead. The pedestrians behind him gasped, with someone yelling "Hey! Be careful man!"

He waved his hand dismissively without turning back, and continued walking on.

"Was I really so unfazed by that? Does my death mean nothing to me?", he wondered. The world would keep spinning without him. These people would still walk down the same streets, to their same jobs, living their same unfulfilling lives, and he'd be a topic for a meaningless five minute conversation. His boss would probably dance in joy.

When had he become so nihilistic? He used to have be so witty, so full of life, have so much ambition. That ambition had been brutally ripped out of him, leaving a depression the would not get filled no mater how much time passed.

He reached the firm at 8.05.

"Late AGAIN?! You were supposed to reach by EIGHT! It's the second time THIS MONTH!", yelled his manger.

He nearly jumped out of his skin. Nervous and jittery, he stood there saying nothing.

The manager sensed his weakness, blast him. He just needed the slightest excuse to bully his staff.

"Head down to Loudbridge Avenue. You'll be working there for the next two weeks."

Loudbridge Avenue was one of the roughest neighborhoods, on the outskirts of the city. Likely no one had accepted the contract, so the manager was looking for an opportunity to palm it off quickly, even if he had to threaten or blackmail to do so.

"Also... I'm docking your pay by half. We cant stand sloppiness here, and you're as sloppy as they come."

That was his bottom line. Enraged, he breathed in, about to erupt. The uninterested manager, however, turned back and slammed his door.

"I'll tell him as soon as this Loudbridge business is over", he thought, moving his bottom line even lower.

He paced towards the bus station, which was back the way he came. He was ravenous, having skipped breakfast, and decided to have a cheap snack on the roadside. He was almost done when the old man from before hobbled up and began "Sir-"

"I haven't got any change.", he said curtly, turning away.

The old man looked like he was about to cry. Suddenly, a customer who frequented the food stall asked the old man - "What do you want?"

The destitute patted his stomach, which was growling loudly.

The customer nodded and bought him some food. Replenished and looking a lot better than before, the beggar walked away.

That was when the shame completely washed over him, submerging him so completely, he struggled to breathe. All the old man had wanted, all he'd needed, was food. Food he could afford to buy without batting an eyelid. Yet he chose to ignore him, assuming that he'd come to beg for money he'd use to buy booze or drugs.

When had it started? When had he become so insensitive to others? When had he become so deaf to his own emotions?

It couldn't continue. He had to steer himself away from this path, lest it became too late.

For so long, he'd kept attending his thankless job, slowly dying on the inside, returning home anxious. He'd then sleep, fearing the next day, waking up at the slightest noises. This fitful sleep would not rejuvenate him, and he'd wake up the next day feeling exhausted. Trying to run away from the anxiety, he would distract himself from his thoughts, seeking social media as a refuge. Having not thought about the cause of his emotional imbalance deep enough, he would blame himself, and force himself to prove that he was "worthy" by trying to excel at his inhospitable workplace.

It was a vicious cycle that had to stop somewhere.

He turned around and walked back to the office. With a thumping heart, he kicked open the managers door and yelled "I QUIT!"

The manager's mouth was agape. The object of his insecurities tried to regain his composure, before replying "The notice period is thirty..."

"I'm leaving right now!", he shouted with tears in his eyes. "This place has been HELL for me! You've been the devil! I've become a shell, a husk, thanks to your torture-"

His voice cracked. Unable to go on, he stormed out of the office.

An outburst like that was as unprofessional as it got. He should be ashamed, and yet... why was it that the city seemed brighter, more colorful?

He saw the one-armed beggar a third time on the way back. He sat next to him, and they chatted for a long while. As evening approached, he bought dinner for the old man, then bade him farewell.

It was the fifth year he'd be eating his Thanksgiving dinner alone. Despite this, despite him being out of a job and in terrible straits... Aaron knew it would be delicious.