A short flash fiction, completely not based on current resentments towards work and the village I live in.
“Same shit, different day” was a phrase often uttered by those who were happy to go through the same rigmarole all the time, as a way to ease their own life passing them by.
It was also what David thought as he started to get changed for work. He pulled on his black work trousers and mumbled to himself. He stumbled towards the kitchen and grabbed the silver flask on the worktop and took a swig of whatever it was he’d put in there.
“Tastes like limes” he noted to himself. He managed to get to the kitchen, and looked out at the street he’d known for almost 10 years. 10 years in the same job, promoted just the once. He knew it was going nowhere. Briefly he looked at his pitiful bank balance online, despite only having recently been paid, and it simply depressed him further.
He walked out of the door, with his rucksack of regular clothes and laptop in, walked by the same buildings that he was sick of seeing and walked by the same unknown people, who still gave him a greeting each morning, despite him not knowing their names or anything about them outside of their shopping habits.
As he walked up to the entranceway to what would be eight hours of stupid customers, incompetent staff and a stressful day, his mind urged him to simply walk on. So he did without hesitation.
He carried on to find his car in the car park of his workplace, got in and saw a colleague headed to work.
“What time do you start?” piqued the small black haired girl.
”I’m finished actually” stated David, matter-of-factly and drove out of the car park. He was done with this part of his life and the same people day in, day out.
Some hours later, David would be in France, going under the name James Harbour and with a whole new backstory for himself. As far as he was concerned, when burning his passport, David had died.