The Armchair and the Groceries.
There was only one place where he could feel at peace. Nowhere else. Only here. Outside this office, the man's face changed- became unrecognizable, even to himself.
If he felt exposed just a step away from his chair, what could he possibly say about the rest of his so
called work life?
In here, everything shifted. His life seemed to bloom with new colors. He hadn't felt this way since his wife was still alive. Now, this was the only thing left in the world that brought him a similar kind of comfort.
Sure, comparing a wife to a piece of furniture was a little odd. But if he had no more hooks to cling to for peace- what else was he supposed to do?
Everything here was in its rightful place: the glass of whiskey, the old calculator he still used instead of the one on his phone, and a stack of neatly arranged papers. Just beyond that, the soft glow of his laptop screen. And right in front of him lay the huge board- his very own training ground.
And today, it was time to make some adjustments. He picked up three little figurines- representing the bloggers- and marked a big blue question mark next to them with a marker. They still weren't finished, still needed painting, but he needed to test the setup first.
He tapped his fingers on the wooden heads of Suzy and Grofo. After a moment of hesitation, he added Roman, placing all three near the lake. Not quite there yet- but definitely moving toward it, full of youthful eagerness and curiosity.
Another thing catching his attention was the crowd forming around the town hall. It forced him to scoop up nearly all the - military forces (read: figurines) in the village and line them up side by side.
Pretty much the entire population was converging on a single purpose: finding the missing Valdis. Ironically, she was usually the one searching for others. But now, as so often before, the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the one. These people believed they had to help the only cop in town.
And he was so damn proud of them. He even wiped a sneaky tear from the corner of his left eye. And the right one too.
What good people! They didn't cower, didn't slack off, and didn't turn away. They left their homes, took days off work, or shut down their shops- all to help.
That, right there- that unity- was what he believed in. Always had. Even back when he was a different man- cocky, shameless, ruthless. Back then, he would've begged, threatened, blackmailed anyone just to make them clean up his messes.
But not now. Now, he had his own gleaming armor against poisoned darts. Its name was acceptance. He'd come to terms with the inevitable. He wasn't running anymore.
And that didn't make it any less terrifying. Especially when someone knocked politely on the office door. He knew the code for his doom: two quick knocks, followed by one heavy slap on the wood. But this time, he didn't listen. He simply stood, hands trembling, and grabbed the wooden basket stuffed with supermarket food- his last - ditch bribe for that same inevitable end.
The whiskey wasn't finished. The weather forecast for tomorrow hadn't been checked. His lottery number hadn't been called- not yet. There's always that "not yet" - that keeps hope alive, fed by shameless dread.
That thought gave him just enough strength to shuffle to the door on shaky legs, holding the basket in front of him like some weird cargo cult ritual. Maybe this was his tribute- offered not to gods, but to fate itself.
The door opened. And there stood Agnieszka, cheeks flushed, practically shouting in his face:
It's starting soon! Time to go!
And just like that, his heart kicked back into gear. This girl wasn't Death- not the one from folklore with a scythe. She had a smartphone, not a blade.
So he was still here. Still had a little more time to live.
And the groceries could wait. He always made sure to buy the non - perishable kind- maybe because he hoped he wasn't starting to rot from the inside either.
One last thing he wanted to say:
Still alive. Still got time.