The Fantasist

Before Tony slides from his glass shelf into the world of maybes and
nevers, he eats a large slice of gorgonzola. It helps him dream,
speeding up the neurons for one last push before they flicker like
cheap Christmas lights. Once Tony is safe in his world of what ifs, he
puts himself on the stage of his workplace. Anything is possible in
this half-world but he prefers the familiar. Normally his office is a
place of stained thin carpet tiles, stale coffee and foul smelling
disinfectants but in his re-created office, even the sandwiches
dispensed from solemn vending machines are tasty and fresh.

General employees are ghosts that pass, mumble and nod to each other a
dozen times a day as if it were the first. Tony cares about the
administrators, managers and colleagues as much as anyone can care
about ghosts. They trouble him and affect his life in countless ways
but he is powerless to impress them.

There is one however who walks amongst them. Her name is Violet and
she is very much alive. She is a personal assistant to one of the more
powerful ghosts. Violet is pale beautiful and all knowing. She is his
succubus, his Delilah. Violet is kind to Tony, unerringly so. She buys
him dark chocolate when he least expects it and she sends him messages
to let him know that she is bored of an afternoon. He sends her back
childish and risqu? jokes because she's the sort that will laugh at
anything and everything. This has made him wonder whether she does not
get to laugh at such puerility often or ever get to laugh at all. Tony
senses her rich vein of sadness.

Lying on his side, he imagines the temperamental air conditioning that
leaves everyone in the office freezing mid February. He spies the dark
bobbed Violet shivering and braying off the cold as she hugs her
shoulders wishing she was somewhere else. Tony extends her a warm mug
of tea which she grips with the sleeve ends of her tight knit pullover,
the one that make him want to rest his cheek on her bosom. She declines
a Viennese Tart patting her trim but full figure. He imagines her hips
squeezed tight in the black skirt she seems to wear every single day.
Violet flicks her hair and reveals a delicate gold chain against her
pale skin. Tony wants to run his fingers around that chain. He wonders
how she came by it as she plays idly with the cross using the tips of
her manicured fingers.

He imagines them sharing a filthy secret about a colleague and she
infers something personal about what she likes. He asks her about her
plans for the weekend and she tells him that they involve a lot of
baths, pampering and making strawberry jam. His plans are, well,
limited, but you never know. They hear a noise that interrupts their
flirtations. An unpleasant noise off in the distance, maybe upstairs,
maybe outside. The noise which is almost certainly gunfire is followed
by screams that no-one should be entitled to hear.

Tony grinds his mind into reverse, stopping himself mid-fantasy. He
needs to make this as real as possible. He needs to qualify the threat,
get it right. He doesn't want to have to re-run it. In the past he's
tried fires, bombs, earthquakes and colleagues going postal. Tonight he
returns to the one that works best. The terrorist threat. He's straight
back into it and turns to Violet who clings to his shoulder with both
hands.
"We need to leave." They look into each other's eyes to a background of
more screams, more gunfire and the sprinkler system going off.

Somewhere else in his mind, a manager who Tony just happens to despise
gets it in the back. Tony and Violet sneak through the open plan office
on bended knees towards an exit. He tells Violet to wait where she is,
he has spotted something. It all happens at once. At the end of the
office, a balaclava with an AK47 spins and releases an umbrella of fire
cutting down structures Tony had regarded unquestioningly as solid
objects. The flash of fire is like a daffodil head in the distance. He
looks back at Violet still crouched, almost hidden under a workstation.
With both hands he urges her to curl up even smaller.

Tony flanks the gunman who is revelling in the lack of opposition to
his destruction. More gunfire, this time from above, almost coming
through the floor. He never counted on so much dust and smoke. The
gunman scythes down a co-worker attempting to make a break for it and
an empty clip drops at Tony's side. He's that close.

Tony take the opportunity to launch himself at the balaclava and they
both crash to the sprung floor like wrestlers struggling and grunting.
There is a shriek from behind him which he recognizes as Violet and
takes some satisfaction from the fact that she is watching. The
struggle between them continues face to face. Tony can make out the
enlarged pupils, the bursting capillaries, and the reddened rims as he
briefly makes full eye contact. He butts the intruder in the nose and
reaches down for a pistol, holstered on the man's hip. Once in
possession of the gun, he springs up and kicks out hard to the ribs.
The balaclava now is capsized like a tortoise, one hand clamped to his
nose, the other to his gut. Calmly, Tony steps forward, plants a heavy
foot on the man's throat and takes aim. He wants to look away but he
can't. One down.

What next? Tony has a big decision on his hands. Should he move Violet
to a safe location or leave her here? He wants to go after the others
but he has done his job, he's made hero, first class. Armed response
units are a long way from responding. More people are dying by the
minute and there is always the chance that they may of course raze the
entire building. How big a hero does he want to be tonight? He does
have to get up for work in the morning.

Tony makes a less than executive decision and collects some ammunition
from the dead terrorist. He collects Violet who's dark make up has been
washed artfully down her face by the sprinkler system. With his rough
thumb he wipes some of it away and breathes some words of comfort in
her direction. She nods pathetically. He must stay strong for the pair
of them. More gunfire, closer now. They have been working across the
floor above in opposite directions.

Tony and Violet make it to the elevator lobby. They share a knowing
look and press the button. Up on the next floor a second balaclava
bursts out into the corresponding lobby just as the elevator arrives
with a gleeful ping. The doors open and he opens fire at close range.
Only when the body drops to the floor does he realise that his dead
colleague has spilled a concussion grenade. There is a muffled
explosion and Tony creeps up the stairs and finds what he expected,
pieces. Two down.

Two is enough for tonight, he has done his bit and got his reward, the
girl of his dreams. Tony rolls over and goes to sleep hugging himself
imagining that he is holding her.

The succubus stands swaying over Tony as he sleeps. Violet is so proud
of her pet project, her dirty little secret, she must protect him at
all costs. She clasps her hands together at her throat and smiles
wistfully revelling in her own sweet existence. Violet reaches over to
the beside table for the remaining wedge of gorgonzola and steals a
hearty bite.