Stichflache

Black and White

My body jolts upward, a crash outside startling me awake. The lights are very bright, only making a headache grow faster. It takes me a second to realize that I fell asleep at my desk. Sweat drips down my neck and forehead, a pen leaving a mark on my arm for resting on it so long. I grab my head to subdue the headache that tries to ruin my evening. What had woken me up?

I hear outside my office some sort of commotion. I stand up, stretching my arms with a yawn, and open the door. 

"-entschuldigung, ich bin so ungeschickt, verdammt!" I hear immediately, peering around the corner. None other than Clarissa, helping the mail carrier stack things back on his cart. Having her work for me for 5 years now, I can collect her German apologies for knocking over the cart.

I shake my head with a sigh, going to close the door when her voice pipes up to a higher tone. "Dr. Whitman!" She shouts for me. I sigh again.

"I'm very tired, Clarissa." I say, but I'm not sure if she can hear me yet. Her heels click in the hall as she walks to my room. I walk back to my desk, piling up the scattered papers. My printer had finished my analogies while I fell asleep. I groan. I need to turn these in along with the complaints from the U.K. board.

"Sir, I'm sure you'll love to hear this!" Clarissa giggles, stepping into the room. I turn to her, waiting for whatever she needs, but she's looking around with a strange look. She has pink streaks dyed into her hair, wearing a flowy black shirt and blue leggings. I can tell she's trying to feel a bit younger for her age. She’s also almost a foot and a half shorter than me, so I have to lean down a bunch. 

"Lieber Gott, Alexander, you need to go home! How long has it been since you left this office?" She asks, putting down her oddly large binder, shuffling some papers on my counter.

"Hey, wait, those aren't similar documents!" I shout just a little too loud, grabbing the papers from her hand and scattering them again. Files that needed turned in last week are mixed with a letter from Mr. Crawl sent to me yesterday. I groan again. I need to give him the reports on the comet. Plus a whole lot more.

"I'm sorry, Clarissa, this just isn't the right time." I sigh, rubbing a hand down my face. I still have so much to do. The comet drop still hasn't been located and we only have 72 hours left to claim it. 

Clarissa scoffs, slapping my arm. "You need to go home and get some rest! You are not the only astrologist here!" I rub the spot she slapped, yawning again.

"For one, ow, for two, that's assault, and for three, I know I'm not the only one here but I am the only one working on this as if it’s actually important and not another ‘alien’ chase!" I scavange through the papers on my desk, finding a picture of the comet in question. I hold up the peculiar image that was posted on someone's Instagram. "Do you see the purple glow? The purple fire? It’s impossible for natural fire, coming from our atmosphere, to turn a shape purple!"

I'd hadn't the time to share the image with anyone but Nicholas, yet. She grabs the paper, her eyes marvelling over the image, proving my point. 

"Where did you get this?" She asks.

I shake my head, rubbing my temple. My head throbs. I need a coffee. I really haven't left the compound in a while...

"Some bystander on Instagram, near where you grew up. Ried City, Austria, correct?" 

She nods, putting her hand to her chest as if to act flattered that I remembered. "Either way, this room smells like someone drowned in their own sweat, looks like a tornado blew through it, and you look like the walking dead."

I nod, laughing halfheartedly. "You summed up my life pretty well, as usual." My printer starts buzzing, indicating someone sending me something.

I go to my computer, barely able to open my Lightningdist before Clarissa reaches over me and turns it off. "Mrs. Dovety..." I groan, rubbing my eyes.