Journal

The Weeks

Almost midnight, and the Tenth Week had been drinking. Things weren’t looking too good, but he was at the end of his shift. Hic. Hic. Hic. Stumbling about with no sense of direction, no sense of time, the Tenth Week felt enormously depressed.

What happened? How did it come to this? There was the project thing. There were friends to keep up with. There were things to worry about regarding the next shift. Sure, he wouldn’t be the one on duty then, but it didn’t keep him from worrying, from thinking. He  know how the others got by. Did the Eighth Week worry about the stuff that was ahead? or did she simply leave it all the chance?

(He never talked to the Ninth Week, who was enigmatic and gaunt and really scary.)

Questions, questions. Getting a little drunk was always easier. Though it did make him think about the others. What would they think of him now? always more than a little tipsy, always scared to face the truth. Gah! Another question! Away with you! I just want a quiet night before I hand over the reins!

Then again, it wasn’t all horrible. Not too far in the horizon, there was the one they called Recess Week, and then it would be examinations. Supposedly, some kind of absolution would be achieved then, and some happy paradise would descend upon them all. Probably just tales, really, fictions concocted to mislead the ignorant. Yet, they did have that saying about ignorance and bliss, and who was the Tenth Week to object?

Another gulp. Another dose of a watered-down dream.

The seconds seemed to be impeded. It was as if time was decelerating. Tick. Tick. Tick… Tick… Silence… Tick. No, not now, he thought. Twenty seconds. Then fifteen. Then twelve. Ten. Nine. Eight? No, now, eight. It was slowing down too much. Come on, he thought. Seven more seconds. Seven more. Another gulp. Another gulp. Six. You can’t do this to me. One more gulp. Impatience. Another gulp. Silence. Another. Five. Gulp. Gulp. And the bottle was empty. Not now! Don’t abandon me no! Four! Go to four! Yes! Now three! Three! Come on! Three! Please! Three. Please… Three. Please…

The Tenth Week shut his eyes. Everything stopped.

Then, there was a hand on his shoulder.

How was the shift? asked the Eleventh Week.

Oh, it’s you. The Tenth Week opened his eyes. Well, uh, you know. The… uh… usual. The usual.

All right. My turn.

See you again soon, said the Tenth Week. as he stood up to leave.

You always do, said the Eleventh.

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© 2009 a modest odyssey.