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A room full of days- a story
Former Member
Posts: 1,876,323 The Mix Honorary Guru
this is not by me, but my former colleague, saw it on facebook and had to re post- this is all from his own, spectacularly weird and brilliant mind.
Lloyd Mills- 'A room full of days'
Tuesday leant back in her chair and cracked her knuckles. Thursday winced and shot her a disapproving look, he couldn’t bear the sound. “Do you have to do that?” scolded Sunday. Clearly, Tuesday was feeling belligerent as she knew full well her knuckle cracking irked her fellow Days. Tuesday was the youngest Day and this showed in her attitude towards the others. She was confrontational, recalcitrant and delighted in winding up stuffy old Sunday.
Sunday pottered incessantly, there was always something that needed doing or fixing and it was inevitably a rush job followed by hours of lounging and eating and the cycle would repeat ad infinitum. A strange fug followed Sunday and the others steered clear for fear of being bored to death.
Wednesday looked up from his magazine, a manic rictus grin jammed permanently on his face. He was a curious mix of indomitable hopefulness and crushing hopelessness which manifested itself in a tense and neurotic personality. “Oh leave her be you miserable old sod,” croaked Wednesday in her defence, “she’s doing no harm.” Wednesday looked on Tuesday as a little sister; he knew she wound everyone up but secretly revelled in her rebelliousness, knowing full well his mental state would never allow such behaviour.
“She knows it bloody annoys me, she’s doing it on purpose!” protested Sunday.
“It’s true; she’s a pain in the neck. Tell her, Wednesday!” agreed Thursday.
“I’m staying out of it,” said Wednesday, “ignore her, she just wants the attention.” Thursday huffed and went back to his work. He was a very diligent Day, constantly working and rushing towards some imaginary deadline. He was the least social Day as he was in a constant state of panic. The others tried to convince him to take a break once in a while but unseen forces drove Thursday onwards and nothing could break his infinite cycle. At Wednesday’s proclamation they all sat in silence, Tuesday feeling very pleased to have created an awkward atmosphere.
They all sat in a bright, white walled room about 20 feet by 15 and 10 feet high with a lone door at one end. There were 7 chairs and 3 tables with the Days’ various paper works and assorted but minimal belongings scattered on them. A sort of quiet elevator music emanated from unseen speakers to create a strange ambience when no one was talking.
Tuesday brought her chair to the upright position.
“You know your problem, Sunday…” she drawled mischievously whilst chewing her pen. Wednesday’s eyes darted across to Tuesday, his wild look growing more crazed. “Leave it, sweetheart,” he growled. “No, go on!” cried Sunday, dropping the gizmo he had been attempting to fix, “What’s my problem? I can’t wait to hear this!”
“Your problem is that you’re too uptight, you wouldn’t know how to have fun if someone drew you a diagram with stick people.” Tuesday was confident that this would cause an explosion, a colossal argument that would entertain her until her turn to go through the door.
Monday would return soon and her shift would begin.
But rather than explode in the usual way, Sunday, not looking at her once, took a deep breath, picked up his gizmo, adjusted his glasses and started talking to Tuesday while resuming his fixing. “Yes, I suppose I could try and have a bit more fun, dear. We could all be a bit crazier couldn’t we? We could all be like you, couldn’t we? Or like Friday over there, we could all be reckless and fancy-free like him? But who would do all the important little jobs around here? Would you? The old place would fall apart and I know for a fact that you wouldn’t lift a finger and be the first to complain about things. So why don’t you think before you speak, you rotten brat.”
Tuesday sat up straight once more, shocked at Sunday’s retort. Wednesday grinned harder, for as much as he loved her he knew this was a positive little lesson for his menacing little sister. Folding her arms, she sulked silently, glowering at Sunday.
Good old Friday had been uncharacteristically quiet during this exchange. Always keen to get involved in any discussion, debate or altercation, his hyperactivity had lulled for a moment (possibly through exhaustion) but now sat bolt upright and shrieked, “Yeah, you go for it, old boy! You show her who’s boss!” He turned and blew a raspberry at Tuesday who harrumphed and turned away, arms still folded. Friday was a whirlwind, constantly geeing on his colleagues to enjoy life and live for the moment. He had the demeanour of a ditzy valley girl, the blind optimism of a General going into battle and a smattering of yappy dog.
“Keep it down, will ya,” moaned Saturday who lay prostrate in the corner. He was permanently woozy, a thick haze hung around him and he clashed frequently with Friday. “Oh, get up you lazy bastard,” cried Friday,” all you do is lay around, I can’t bear it! There’s so much to do! Who fancies a sing-song?!” Everyone had sort of learned to zone their hyperactive colleague out but on occasion someone would snap at him leaving him hurt for a moment or two but back to his old self in no time. He was a force of nature that everyone secretly envied and loved despite his constant chatter. His joie de vivre would have been infectious were it not for the other Days own deep-rooted foibles.
Saturday threw up on himself and everyone groaned. This was a common occurrence, Saturday making a scene out of despair or ill health and Sunday rushing over to clean up the mess. Remarkably though, once the afflicted Day had been cleaned up he generally felt infinitely better and ready to face whatever came his way (within reason). This didn’t last long though and by the end of a shift he was back to feeling atrocious. “That guy needs to sort himself out, seriously,” Friday would say and continue to dance on the spot.
“You all set for your shift, Tuesday?” Wednesday was trying to bring Tuesday out of her sulk. She didn’t answer immediately but eventually replied with a curt, “Yeah, I ‘spose.” It was the best Wednesday could hope for, he just wanted her to feel part of the group again. For all her annoying ways she was still part of the team which he felt she needed reminding of every now and then.
Sunday got up and attended to the vomit-covered Saturday, Friday threw more shapes and muttered something about “havin’ it”, Thursday tapped at a calculator and pored over paperwork, Tuesday lined up an elastic band at Sunday and Wednesday sat in his chair grinning maniacally as usual, trying to focus on his magazine and control his tremors. Calm was all but restored in the room.
Everyone jumped at once though as the door slammed open and Monday staggered in looking bedraggled and furious. To a stranger it would have been a terrifying sight; this foul tempered Day had the look of a maniac about him, as if he would strike you at any moment. The other Days were used to him but he seemed particularly enraged on this occasion. “I’m fucking sick of it, sick of all of it. Is this it? Is this all I am? I’m cursed, cursed I tell you!” Monday looked to be on the verge of tears.
“Now look here, old boy,” chirped Friday, “things aren’t all bad, just look…” but before he had the chance to finish, Monday had grabbed him by his lapels and pinned him up against the wall. Terror filled Friday’s eyes. “You don’t fucking get it, do you?! You don’t know what it’s like to be hated so fundamentally, so completely. To be spat on soon as looked at, to be feared and reviled! You just chirrup away like a fucking bird, everything’s fun and games for you, isn’t it?!” Friday wet himself a bit. Monday continued, not loosening the grip on his colleague, “When you walk out that door the sun shines, people skip and laugh and everything is beautiful. What do I have to look forward to? Huh?!”
Wednesday got up and walked towards them . “Monday, it’s not his fault. Let him go, eh?” he whispered. Monday hung his head and let go. The happiest Day fell to the ground, shaking and weeping. Wednesday’s manic quality always unnerved the other Days and it was an unspoken rule that what he said, went. Sunday and Thursday were shocked and afraid at this unprecedented outburst. Tuesday sat in her chair grinning and enjoying this new drama for it was these very moments that she lived for. So she soaked it up. Saturday had barely noticed in his comatose state.
“You lot are so fucking smug,” Monday groaned. And as quick as he had flown into his rage, his face dropped and an intense melancholy seemed to envelope him, like a drunkard at the end of the night who realises he won’t be served anymore and has to be alone with his thoughts, ghosts and bitterness. “This is my eternity; I can’t escape this fate y’know,” Monday continued, wretchedly, “every seventh shift I have to go out there and, and…” he began to sob bitterly, “what do they want from me?” He slumped to the floor and held his head in his hands while the others looked on. They all looked at one another and struggled for something to say. But Tuesday got up out of her chair. She walked over to the heap that was Monday and knelt beside him. He looked up at her through bleary eyes, tears streaming down his face, lip quivering. She put her hand on his arm and spoke softly, “Monday, don’t cry, you should know that you’re doing important and valuable work.” The broken Day looked at her with a mixture of confusion and hope. “Do you really think so?” he blubbed, snot trickling towards his lip. “Absolutely,” she whispered, “every time you go out there, you’re making me look brilliant.” And with that she stood up, skipped to the door and slammed it behind her but not before winking at the rest of her colleagues. Wednesday sighed. It was going to be a long week.
Lloyd Mills- 'A room full of days'
Tuesday leant back in her chair and cracked her knuckles. Thursday winced and shot her a disapproving look, he couldn’t bear the sound. “Do you have to do that?” scolded Sunday. Clearly, Tuesday was feeling belligerent as she knew full well her knuckle cracking irked her fellow Days. Tuesday was the youngest Day and this showed in her attitude towards the others. She was confrontational, recalcitrant and delighted in winding up stuffy old Sunday.
Sunday pottered incessantly, there was always something that needed doing or fixing and it was inevitably a rush job followed by hours of lounging and eating and the cycle would repeat ad infinitum. A strange fug followed Sunday and the others steered clear for fear of being bored to death.
Wednesday looked up from his magazine, a manic rictus grin jammed permanently on his face. He was a curious mix of indomitable hopefulness and crushing hopelessness which manifested itself in a tense and neurotic personality. “Oh leave her be you miserable old sod,” croaked Wednesday in her defence, “she’s doing no harm.” Wednesday looked on Tuesday as a little sister; he knew she wound everyone up but secretly revelled in her rebelliousness, knowing full well his mental state would never allow such behaviour.
“She knows it bloody annoys me, she’s doing it on purpose!” protested Sunday.
“It’s true; she’s a pain in the neck. Tell her, Wednesday!” agreed Thursday.
“I’m staying out of it,” said Wednesday, “ignore her, she just wants the attention.” Thursday huffed and went back to his work. He was a very diligent Day, constantly working and rushing towards some imaginary deadline. He was the least social Day as he was in a constant state of panic. The others tried to convince him to take a break once in a while but unseen forces drove Thursday onwards and nothing could break his infinite cycle. At Wednesday’s proclamation they all sat in silence, Tuesday feeling very pleased to have created an awkward atmosphere.
They all sat in a bright, white walled room about 20 feet by 15 and 10 feet high with a lone door at one end. There were 7 chairs and 3 tables with the Days’ various paper works and assorted but minimal belongings scattered on them. A sort of quiet elevator music emanated from unseen speakers to create a strange ambience when no one was talking.
Tuesday brought her chair to the upright position.
“You know your problem, Sunday…” she drawled mischievously whilst chewing her pen. Wednesday’s eyes darted across to Tuesday, his wild look growing more crazed. “Leave it, sweetheart,” he growled. “No, go on!” cried Sunday, dropping the gizmo he had been attempting to fix, “What’s my problem? I can’t wait to hear this!”
“Your problem is that you’re too uptight, you wouldn’t know how to have fun if someone drew you a diagram with stick people.” Tuesday was confident that this would cause an explosion, a colossal argument that would entertain her until her turn to go through the door.
Monday would return soon and her shift would begin.
But rather than explode in the usual way, Sunday, not looking at her once, took a deep breath, picked up his gizmo, adjusted his glasses and started talking to Tuesday while resuming his fixing. “Yes, I suppose I could try and have a bit more fun, dear. We could all be a bit crazier couldn’t we? We could all be like you, couldn’t we? Or like Friday over there, we could all be reckless and fancy-free like him? But who would do all the important little jobs around here? Would you? The old place would fall apart and I know for a fact that you wouldn’t lift a finger and be the first to complain about things. So why don’t you think before you speak, you rotten brat.”
Tuesday sat up straight once more, shocked at Sunday’s retort. Wednesday grinned harder, for as much as he loved her he knew this was a positive little lesson for his menacing little sister. Folding her arms, she sulked silently, glowering at Sunday.
Good old Friday had been uncharacteristically quiet during this exchange. Always keen to get involved in any discussion, debate or altercation, his hyperactivity had lulled for a moment (possibly through exhaustion) but now sat bolt upright and shrieked, “Yeah, you go for it, old boy! You show her who’s boss!” He turned and blew a raspberry at Tuesday who harrumphed and turned away, arms still folded. Friday was a whirlwind, constantly geeing on his colleagues to enjoy life and live for the moment. He had the demeanour of a ditzy valley girl, the blind optimism of a General going into battle and a smattering of yappy dog.
“Keep it down, will ya,” moaned Saturday who lay prostrate in the corner. He was permanently woozy, a thick haze hung around him and he clashed frequently with Friday. “Oh, get up you lazy bastard,” cried Friday,” all you do is lay around, I can’t bear it! There’s so much to do! Who fancies a sing-song?!” Everyone had sort of learned to zone their hyperactive colleague out but on occasion someone would snap at him leaving him hurt for a moment or two but back to his old self in no time. He was a force of nature that everyone secretly envied and loved despite his constant chatter. His joie de vivre would have been infectious were it not for the other Days own deep-rooted foibles.
Saturday threw up on himself and everyone groaned. This was a common occurrence, Saturday making a scene out of despair or ill health and Sunday rushing over to clean up the mess. Remarkably though, once the afflicted Day had been cleaned up he generally felt infinitely better and ready to face whatever came his way (within reason). This didn’t last long though and by the end of a shift he was back to feeling atrocious. “That guy needs to sort himself out, seriously,” Friday would say and continue to dance on the spot.
“You all set for your shift, Tuesday?” Wednesday was trying to bring Tuesday out of her sulk. She didn’t answer immediately but eventually replied with a curt, “Yeah, I ‘spose.” It was the best Wednesday could hope for, he just wanted her to feel part of the group again. For all her annoying ways she was still part of the team which he felt she needed reminding of every now and then.
Sunday got up and attended to the vomit-covered Saturday, Friday threw more shapes and muttered something about “havin’ it”, Thursday tapped at a calculator and pored over paperwork, Tuesday lined up an elastic band at Sunday and Wednesday sat in his chair grinning maniacally as usual, trying to focus on his magazine and control his tremors. Calm was all but restored in the room.
Everyone jumped at once though as the door slammed open and Monday staggered in looking bedraggled and furious. To a stranger it would have been a terrifying sight; this foul tempered Day had the look of a maniac about him, as if he would strike you at any moment. The other Days were used to him but he seemed particularly enraged on this occasion. “I’m fucking sick of it, sick of all of it. Is this it? Is this all I am? I’m cursed, cursed I tell you!” Monday looked to be on the verge of tears.
“Now look here, old boy,” chirped Friday, “things aren’t all bad, just look…” but before he had the chance to finish, Monday had grabbed him by his lapels and pinned him up against the wall. Terror filled Friday’s eyes. “You don’t fucking get it, do you?! You don’t know what it’s like to be hated so fundamentally, so completely. To be spat on soon as looked at, to be feared and reviled! You just chirrup away like a fucking bird, everything’s fun and games for you, isn’t it?!” Friday wet himself a bit. Monday continued, not loosening the grip on his colleague, “When you walk out that door the sun shines, people skip and laugh and everything is beautiful. What do I have to look forward to? Huh?!”
Wednesday got up and walked towards them . “Monday, it’s not his fault. Let him go, eh?” he whispered. Monday hung his head and let go. The happiest Day fell to the ground, shaking and weeping. Wednesday’s manic quality always unnerved the other Days and it was an unspoken rule that what he said, went. Sunday and Thursday were shocked and afraid at this unprecedented outburst. Tuesday sat in her chair grinning and enjoying this new drama for it was these very moments that she lived for. So she soaked it up. Saturday had barely noticed in his comatose state.
“You lot are so fucking smug,” Monday groaned. And as quick as he had flown into his rage, his face dropped and an intense melancholy seemed to envelope him, like a drunkard at the end of the night who realises he won’t be served anymore and has to be alone with his thoughts, ghosts and bitterness. “This is my eternity; I can’t escape this fate y’know,” Monday continued, wretchedly, “every seventh shift I have to go out there and, and…” he began to sob bitterly, “what do they want from me?” He slumped to the floor and held his head in his hands while the others looked on. They all looked at one another and struggled for something to say. But Tuesday got up out of her chair. She walked over to the heap that was Monday and knelt beside him. He looked up at her through bleary eyes, tears streaming down his face, lip quivering. She put her hand on his arm and spoke softly, “Monday, don’t cry, you should know that you’re doing important and valuable work.” The broken Day looked at her with a mixture of confusion and hope. “Do you really think so?” he blubbed, snot trickling towards his lip. “Absolutely,” she whispered, “every time you go out there, you’re making me look brilliant.” And with that she stood up, skipped to the door and slammed it behind her but not before winking at the rest of her colleagues. Wednesday sighed. It was going to be a long week.
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