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8.30. The white computer light was reflected in her eyes. She tapped at the keys, the click clack echoing from the walls of her cubicle. She'd only been in for half an hour but it already felt like a lifetime. It had been a lifetime, really. Twenty years of this. Some people only lived so long. Click clack. Keep tapping at the keys. Bring her boss coffee when he asks. Smile. Click clack. The hum of another fax, the tap of her fingers against the machine, a slight variation to the monotony. Then back to the keyboard. Click clack. Emailing a sponsor here, adjusting his schedule there, listening to the stuttering noises of the printer, and then the tap of her kitten heels as she brought the new documents to her boss. Smile. The sound of her heels against the linoleum floor sounded awfully like the tap of her fingers on the computer keys. Click clack. She heard it when she closed her eyes, saw the white of the screen. She never dreamed at night. Her brain ran through her day until she fell asleep. Scrolling through documents. Text slightly too small. Times New Roman. Arial if she was lucky. Size twelve. She always had to lean forwards and squint. It hadn't given her a headache yet, but sometimes she wished it would, because at least that would be a change in her routine. The release of digging through her handbag for the ibuprofen she always carried but never used, the feel of rough, cheap fabric under her fingers rather than smooth plastic and paper, the little faults in the stitching where the sewing machine must have hesitated and no one had been paid enough to go back and fix it. It sounded like bliss. But it hadn't given her a headache yet, so she kept squinting. The hum of another fax. The printer. Her typing. Click clack. The computer was IBM. She didn't know what model. She knew it was IBM, because it said so, in faded, scratched letters on the off white plastic. Sometimes she wondered how she could spend her life on a device that she didn't even know the model of, let alone how it worked, but then she'd receive another email and she'd be back to typing. Click clack. Her thoughts were indistinguishable from the dull sound. Click clack. 

8.35. Counting the minutes was just customary by now. She'd go home and stare at the T.V. until she fell asleep. Same channel. CBS news. She wasn't sure why it was always CBS news, other than the fact that it was the first thing that'd come on when she'd clicked on the T.V. when she'd bought it, and she'd never really thought to change it. It was always the same reporter. She couldn't remember his name. There was a weather guy who would always stumble over his words. She'd have something microwavable for dinner. It'd get cold by the time she remembered it, which didn't make sense because she wouldn't be occupied with anything other than staring at the T.V., but she'd forget anyway. Click clack. Her brain would still be stuck in the office. What an unimaginative thing to be stuck on, she'd think mournfully, chewing on stringy mac n' cheese, and then she'd forget about it. The walls of her room were off white like her computer. She'd lay down in bed, white sheets, white pillows, and close her eyes, listening. Click clack. Click clack. Circular. A soft hum. She didn't know why they still had a fax machine. They had email now. She'd never questioned it. Sometimes the click clacks would be slightly duller. Kitten heels. Linoleum floor. Click clack. Click clack. She couldn't quite breathe. She'd fall asleep soon enough, because she always did, before any other thoughts could creep in. And she never dreamed. Never. She must have once upon a time. Children dreamed. But she hadn't been a child for twenty years.

8.40. She still couldn't breathe, her tie tight around her neck. The minutes felt faster. Was it already 8.40? Her palms felt clammy, but she didn't wipe them on her skirt, because clammy was different, and the keys weren't quite so smooth with her sweat sticking to the plastic. She always skipped breakfast. Get dressed fast. White blouse, jacket, coat in the winter, sunglasses in the summer. Sheer black tights. A little ripped. She needed new ones. Skirt. Kitten heels. That damn clicking as she walked. She'd caught her boss looking at her legs a couple times, but there wasn't exactly anything she could do about it. A little lip gloss. Combed back hair, dull church mouse brown. Walk to the office. She didn't live far. Click clack. The pavements here were dirty and she'd linger on them for as long as she could, waiting, though she wasn't sure what for. Then, the cleanliness of the office. The scratched IBM logo. Click clack. Her heart was racing, and she wasn't sure why. She wiped her hands on her skirt, finally, and the sound of typing stopped. The too-small letters swam in front of her eyes.

8.43. Almost two hours since she'd come in. Time was definitely flowing too fast. She still hadn't finished this email. There was a new sound now. Thump thump. She'd wanted to ask the doctor to check her heart during her last appointment, but she hadn't remembered to bring it up. She felt nauseous. Maybe it was the sudden speed of the minutes ticking by. Did she have any Pepto-Bismol in her bag? She couldn't remember. It would be important to check. Replace it if she didn't have any. Always good to have some on hand.

8.44. Thump thump. The letters swam. She squinted. Her cubicle was quieter than she'd ever heard it, except for the sound of her heart, and the distant and unintelligible noises beyond her cubicle walls. Those were louder than ever. Why were they so loud?

8.45. Finish the email first. She squinted at the screen. The letters kept swimming. Thump thump. What did they say? She couldn't tell. People outside were still yelling. It was getting even louder. Too loud. Why was her heart beating so fast?

8.46. Oh.

8.47. Thump thump. Her head hurt.