Bleakness

This isn't one of those stories that end with a happily ever after. The hero doesn't marry the girl, if you can even call him a hero. The anatgonist doesn't have an epic demise. This is a story for all the pessimists in the world, enjoy.

The beginning isn't anything spectacular. Just an average joe, going to work an average joe's job. Let's call him Greg. His name could be Sam, or Jacob, or he could have your name, but Greg is as good a name as any. At twenty-eight years old, where this story begins, Greg owned a small barely furnished apartment, but he mostly spent his time in a smaller cubicle. He works hard, for enough money to get by with a few extra beers at the end of the week. Greg's boss is an ass, and the girl in the cubicle next to his might just be his dream girl, she's in enough of them, but he's never said anything not pertaining to work to her, and subconsiously, isn't ever planning to.

The beginning isn't anything spectacular. Just a girl next door working a girl next door job. She could be a Courney or a Laura, or whatever your distant cousin that you were close to when you were little, but never really talk to now name was, but for our story purposes, her name is Erica. Erica will turn twenty-nine in four days. Without alimony from her cheating ex-husband she couldn't afford to keep Sarah in daycare and a leaky roof over their heads. Erica's boss sexually harrassess her, but without a college degree, she can't risk losing her job by filing a complaint. But she works hard to get a promotion, to excape her boss, and becoming a bit more independant, although, honestly, she'll never get it.

The beginning isn't anything spectacular. He's the boss. He will inherit the company once his father dies, if he keeps his office in check, at least that's what his father told him he will inherit. Although, like father like son, he did inherit the inablility to be faithful to his spouse. Meet Donald  Allen. I suppose he could be Robert Hall or Paul Cole Junior, or whatever your boss is called, but I prefer Donald Allen. Who coincidentally goes by his surname only. He just turned fifty four two months ago, and celebrated with a fifty thousand dollar bash. He always has been a people person. He needs to know people. Needs people to know him. Allen makes half a million dollars annually, mostly from daddy's allowance. It isn't a coincidence that if someone took a poll of female hair color and eye shade over ninety percent would be brown eyed blondes, but as Donald likes to say, coincidences are like honest politicians, nonexistant.

These three saw each other every week day for a year. We would not even have a story to tell if That Thing hadn't have happened. Greg would have lost his job due to budget cuts in six months, give or take a day, and had to move back in with his parents in Canada. Erica would have tried everything to get a promotion, but fail and turn back to alcohol, losing her six year old daughter, Sarah in a custody battle because of it, and Allen would have filed for a divorce in exactly one year, draining all his funds, right before his father died, leaving the entire company his daughter, Donald's half sister that loathes him. If That Thing had not have happend. But it did. And the real kicker is, that things would have been better off if That Thing never happened.