Shards of Home

"I've knocked for about, ten times now. Hello? Is there any light in that bulb of yours?"

Yes, what bulb? No, you knocked maybe thrice. Come on in.

He made space on the table; papers were strewn all over so he pilled them up in a corner and placed a metal container on them.

"Yeah, well, here's lunch. Sorry they ran out of mustard. Medium rare, as ordered."

What? A burger with no mustard is like, a boat with no propellers, a car with no tyres, a..

"Uhuh, sure. Got any beer?"

He got off his chair and took two bottles from the fridge.

"Your desk looks like a warzone. You ever do any work in here?"

Well, he rolled his eyes and took a swig of his beer, I try not to do work in here. After all, it's only my office. I try to do work at home, after work hours.

"Ha. Funny. I think you should have done stand-up."

I think so too. Shouldn't have been a writer. There's no money in it. No, no, swallow, and then talk. Can't have you choking to death in my office. Thanks for the burger, by the way.

"Don't mention it. And if I do choke, and you don't save me, I'm haunting you. I mean it. What are you writing -" he reached for his beer but accidentally pushed the metal container off the table, spilling the contents all over the floor.

"Hell, I'm sorry, dude. Let me pick it up-"

No, it's fine, I got it. Don't move, please. You may damage a piece.

He got down on his knees and reverently placed the pieces back into the box, counting as he went. After he was done, he placed the box in his table drawer.

"Hey," he broke the silence that fell on the room, "If you don't mind my asking, what's with the box?"

It's...a long story. And maybe even a little complicated. Where do I even begin...

~

This is part one of a short story. Let me know what you think!

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