Thursday, Revisited
There is a loud, blaring screech from the intercom system. A sound of heavy breathing permeates the building, reducing Saturday to sleepy giggles, elsewhere. A patient, mechanical winding sound accompanies a tuneless hum, soon followed by a ticking noise and the soft clunk of an object being gently placed upon a wooden surface — presumably the desk upon which the intercom system is situated.
“Three… two… one…” echoes out of the dangling speakers and through the facility. They all wait, quietly, fingers crossed. Even Wednesday, with her pillow over her head, is wishing fervently for a successful endeavor.
Nothing happens. A great and humble sigh drifts out and across their ears, followed by the sound of metallic things being poked and a scraping of something being pushed around.
“Oh. I see.” A click, repeated. A winding. Another click. A wooden-surface-clunk. Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick —
“Three… two… one…”
The shrieking alarm-bells of a wind-up clock batter them from very nearly every direction. Tuesday screams.
“Good Morning, Everyone,” speaks Thursday dolorously through the intercom, “This is your Thursday speaking.”
There is a great pause.
“Coffee will probably help,” says Thursday. The course rumble of a throat being cleared is punctuated by the sharp and painful screech of the intercom being turned off.
Friday winks at Lissa in the break room.
“I don’t think Thursday has a lot to say for itself, but it does show up.”
“Yes,” Lissa agrees, thoughtfully. “Every week.”
With special thanks to my friend L. Miranda, who puts up with my silly texts.