He wasn't going to make it for lunch today. He ran his hands over his thin hair and swore under his breath. The papers his boss wanted sat in an accusing pile, blaming him for not being where they needed to be.
It actually hadn't been his fault, an oversight of his boss, more than likely due to the morning cocktails. He turned and looked out the window. People bustled back and forth, a few of the workers from the floor below passed under his window. They were all headed for the little cafe.
He hated this job, hated his boss that sat in a restaurant at this moment stuffing his face, hated the workers that would enjoy the creamy Mocha Latte his mouth had watered for all morning, hated the fact that he was a weak, introverted pulp of a man and, people made sure to let him know it.
He stood and allowed the blood to pour back into his legs and feet, walking over to the window he thought about calling it and treating himself to the Latte.
Outside the sun glistened.. Traffic whined and groaned it's way through the throng of midday diners. The cafe was just a block away.. that close, but, still too far for him.
He sighed and turned back to the pile of papers..
Something hummed, something cracked, it was slow motion, the light seemed to push the big window inward, he could feel heat first on his face, then it permeated his clothes, instinctively he stepped back, stumbling, falling..
He lay on his back and watched the glass fly inches over his head.. it rained down on his face into his eyes. Liquid ran from his ears, the loud silence, deafening.. he didn't realize at the time, it was blood.
Squeezing his eyes shut, the shards cut into his corneas.. A bright, orange light was the last thing he'd ever see.
He lay still, half conscious, floating between belief and disbelief. Sirens wailed in the distance.. and there were other sounds.. other sounds... screams.. heart aching screams.. For one moment, he realized, that could have been him.
His weakness, though despised, had saved his life.