CHAPTER 4: HOW IAN LOST HIS JOB
Three years passed since Ian Flatley started utilizing his Polaroid camera to capture moments in time in the ever-changing world in which he now lived. Since he started, he had scanned the pictures onto his computer and emailed them to everyone he knew from an anonymous email address. No one seemed to pay much attention to them, at least not anymore. When Ian first started sending the emails, he would receive dozens of replies weekly, such as, “Who is this?” and, “Stop emailing me!” and, “dont quite ur day job!!!!!! =P” which was just embarrassing for all parties involved. But these emails dwindled and finally ceased entirely within only a few weeks as people lost interest or just started actively ignoring him. So it should come as no surprise that Ian was surprised when he received his first reply in years.
He was at work when it happened, on the 17th floor of a 42 story office building, tucked comfortably snug in the confines of his own desk. Despite the ever-changing world around him, and the slow collapse of the economy and government as anyone could imagine it, Ian still managed to keep the same job, much to his own dismay. Apparently humorous t-shirts and bumper stickers are simply one of those commodities that people will always need, like food or flyswatters. He was about to send out his latest photograph of what appeared to be a monolithic moving object in the sky, along with a poem questioning whether or not the object was a dragon (which also forced the word “wagon”) when he saw it. The surprising notification. One new message.
Ian closed his eyes as he clicked the link. He was agnostic, so he prayed to no one in particular that the email would at long last be a reply from the Los Angeles Times, which was now centered more around survival tactics than politics and which celebrities were sleeping with who, as the government was mostly dismantled and most of the world no longer gave a fuck who Tom Cruise was. (As it so happened, Tom Cruise now found a very comfortable living manufacturing non-lethal mousetraps, now making him more relevant to the Universe than ever before.) When Ian opened his eyes again, he was both disappointed and surprised to discover the email was a message from a virtual postmaster general gently informing Ian that one of the intended recipients of Ian’s latest exhibition didn’t exist.
The recipient in question was Alex from accounting. Ian turned to Alex’s desk to ask him if he had a new email address when he discovered the desk looked deserted. Or not so much deserted as never used. Simply put, it wasn’t there anymore. There was no desk, no cubicle, not even a space where the desk could ever be. Just a wall with a “Joke of the Day” calendar on it, still four days behind. It was a knock-knock joke involving an interrupting cow. It was almost as bad as Ian’s poetry.
Alex from accounting no longer existed. Or rather, he had now always never existed. A quick interview of Ian’s co-workers revealed that no one remembered Alex or any of his many zany topical impressions. Ian wondered if Earth actively ceased Alex from existing, snuffing him out like a candle on a birthday cake which someone stuck in a windtunnel, or if Alex, in a desperate attempt to adapt and survive, peeled away his many layers of shallowness, only to discover there was absolutely nothing underneath. In which case, Ian couldn’t mourn for too long. Why would someone mourn the loss of something that never really existed in the first place?
The moment Ian thought this, the building in which he resided shook violently. Then it stopped. Before any of the startled inhabitants could shrug it off as another Californian earthquake, it shook again, this time with longer, more deliberate movements. Then it began to actually sway, back and forth, longer and longer, until it ripped from its foundation entirely and spilled onto the streets. Then, the swaying continued.
Inside the building was, for lack of a better word, pandemonium. For availability of a phrase of equal value, it was fucking nuts. Screaming, crying, running, collapsing, clawing, praying, all different actions with a single-minded goal: to find a way out. A chilling challenge, indeed. Some people, not fully comprehending the situation, headed for an elevator and patiently waited for it to arrive. Those of sounder, but equally confused, mind tumbled down the stairwell. The few sane people left, Ian included, stayed exactly where they were. Some protected their valued possessions: laptops, family pictures, stashes of whatever illegal narcotics they had hidden away in their desks. Ian had nothing left to protect. He already had his camera in his hands. He found it fun to slide with the building’s movements in his swivel chair.
The building’s swaying brought one side closer and closer to the street below, jerking like a swimmer trying to get some water out of his ear. The front door stuck straight out into the air. Those who headed towards it for escape found themselves hopelessly trapped. Ian’s swivel chair slid him towards a down-facing window, where dozens of his co-workers and fellow survivalists poised, ready to jump. Ian poised alike. When the window finally dipped far enough, Ian stepped out of the open window.
He landed with barely a thud on the asphalt below, which fortunately had a very spongy texture today. Others fell in all directions around him. Most of those who leapt left soon after. This made sense. They had family and loved ones to check in on. Ian only had his pet rat, and he would be fine so long as his food dish was filled (which, to the best of Ian’s knowledge, it was). So Ian stood still and watched the building for some time. He watched some other people escape. He watched the building stop its violent swaying and stand mostly upright again. And then he watched the building unfold the wings it suddenly had and fly off into the brilliant pink and green sunset. The cries for help emanating from within faded as the building flew further and further into the sky.
Ian wondered where it was going. He wondered what would happen to the people still trapped inside. He also wondered where he would work now. He finally came to this conclusion on all three thoughts: whatever. It was a beautiful sight. Ian took a picture.
