Cheerios

Punishment

Marcus cursed to himself as he tensed up, clenching his sweaty fists. This had never happened to him. Well, it has once, but only once. He stepped into the elevator and pressed the button at the very top, a simple outline of a black triangle. In front of the opening elevator doors was a white room. He saw a man in a top hat with a black suit and thinning white hair. Next to him was Claire, crossing her arms. A buzz of anger ran through his body.
"Come sit," the man said. Marcus swallowed and quietly sat in a white plastic chair in front of the man's desk.
"Uh, s-sir I can explain all of thi-"
"Don't bother." The man help up a hand. "Worker 467 already explained everything. So tell me," he studied Marcus's collar. "Marcus, why did you disobey?" A chill shivered down his spine at the word.
"Sir, I am so so-"
"Did I ask for a damn apology?" He slammed his fist on his desk, causing both Claire and Marcus to jump back. "Tell me why you didn't do your job, boy!"
"I, I, uh," Marcus stuttered. "He just looked so upset and, uh, I wanted to help him," he said the last part quietly.
"Speak up," the man yelled, standing up and slamming his hands on the desk, causing a few drops of coffee to jump out of the solid white mug and stain the stack of papers beside it. Marcus gripped the edge of the seat, hard. So hard he felt warm blood trickle down one finger.
"I wanted to help him," he almost yelled, his voice trembling. All the color had drained from his face. He felt like he was going to be sick. The man was silent. Too silent.
"We are helping hi-"
"Is this what you call helping him?" Marcus yelled. "Putting the thoughts of literal Hell into his mind and throwing him in a box whe-" he was cut off by a stinging feeling around his neck. The man was holding a remote in front of him, aiming it at Marcus. He tried to yell, but only choking sounds came out as his body violently shook in the chair. The man pressed a button and it stopped. Marcus grabbed the collar, gasping for air and falling out of the chair and landing on the white tile. The man sighed.
"And that is what happens whenever you interrupt your God," the man said, putting the remote back into his pocket. Marcus's face twitched and another buzz of anger ran through him. "Now come back and listen," Marcus stood up slowly and sat in the chair, gritting his teeth and looking down. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, boy," the man growled as Claire smirked down at her brother. He looked at the man with a blank expression.
"You are never to pull another stunt like that again, or you'll be fired, understand?" Marcus nodded his head. "Good." A beep rang out from a white block on his desk. "You two can go home now," Marcus stood up immediately and walked out of the office, not looking back and slamming the door in Claire's face. She immediately swung the door open and shut it behind her.
"What the hell, Marcus?" Claire said, trying to catch up with her younger brother. Marcus didn't respond as he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button to the bottom floor, letting the doors shut before Claire could step inside. He heard her muffled cursing as he felt the elevator travel downwards. His head throbbed as he clenched his fists inside of his pockets. The doors opened and Marcus stormed out. He pulled a card out of his pocket and clocked out quickly, shoving the glass double doors open and walking though the smooth parking lot. A car in section C8 beeped as he unlocked the doors and stormed inside. Claire could just catch the bus.
He shoved the silver key into the slot and twisted it, pulling out of the spot and driving out of the lot. White houses flashed by in his peripheral vision as he sped down the highway. He made a sharp turn and drove down a road with a sign labeled "Plum St" and pulled into the driveway of one of the houses. 320 Plum Street. The house he's lived in all his life. He quickly stepped out of the car, slamming the door shut and reaching in his pocket for the house key. In one swift movement, he unlocked the door, swinging it open and slamming it shut. His head had been throbbing from holding in tears, but now he could finally let them out. A small squeak came out of his throat as the tears fell. He collapsed onto the couch and inhaled sharply, grasping a small square pillow and crying into it. The pillow soon became warm and wet with his tears. A few minutes later, he sat up, breathing heavily and stopping the tears. He flipped the pillow over to the dry side and walked to his bedroom. After the day he just had, he needed some rest.