Burned

Burned Part one

Ben Walter spent his last five minutes at work typing. It was boring work, a quick finance report for one of his clients, a plan for their taxes, and some suggestions for saving in the future. It was utterly bland, and if he cared he would cringe, but after years of the same tired repetition, Ben was used to it. A middle-aged accountant, with nothing better to do. He gave a low grunt, breaking from typing for only a second to scratch his balding head with pink, bloated fingers. He scrubbed at his chubby, stubble-covered face for a brief moment, rubbing what was probably remnants of a donut.
He resumed typing with the same robotic movement he always used, fingers mechanically hitting keys in spurts, as he occasionally paused to check and Excel Sheet for specific information. His khakis itched his legs and his eyes sting as he stared at the screen, muscles under his spastic left eye giving an annoyed twitch. Ben felt a small wave if satisfaction as he finished his final sentence at exactly five o'clock.
Ben's back popped and an involuntary groan ripped out of his throat as he stood up out of his uncomfortable rolling chair. His lax stomach hit the small desk, jarring it, and irritating himself after the long day. Ben watched with stiff fingers and narrowed eyes as a black pen began to lazily across the desk. His annoyance continued to build and his arm muscles tensed, while his eye began to twitch uncontrollably as the pen reached the edge.
It hit the rough gray carpeting​ with a small bounce, and that's when Ben realized that his hands were shaking. He did his best to relax his muscles, and took a deep breath in, pulling all of his tension into his chest, and exhaling the stress out in an irritated sigh. He shook his head at the pen, deciding that picking it up required to much effort, and hefted his suitcase, walked out of the confined space if his beige cubical.