For this weeks Flash Friday we had a very generous 300 words to write about the following prompt:
Tinogasta, Argentina. Photo courtesy of TPS Dave.
Quota
My work has taken me to many places, but none of them ever clicked. The beach was windy, gritty, salty. The city was noisy, smokey, over saturated. Don’t even get me started on the damn jungle. They were getting desperate when they sent me here.
The first thing that hits me is the space. There’s so much of it, a positive abundance. I’ve only ever seen this much space in the history books. The horizon is so far away, bouncing in a steady rhythm as my mount plods along the well worn path. I’ve never ridden before but it feels natural, intuitive, like I was born to do this. A large bird soars overhead, his progress is effortless. I want to be that bird, floating on the breeze. I instinctively kick and let out a yelp as my steed explodes into a gallop, the wind whistling through my hair as the mountains recede behind us.
Something’s different. Out here I am free, free from the glare of fluorescent lights, free from those claustrophobic cubicle walls, free from my quota. This is what I was meant to be, a cowboy from the stories that are told in whisper. I would be my own man, not a mindless corporate drone working 23 hours a day. This feeling is infectious, addictive. Now I understand why my colleagues run from their desks during their sanctioned breaks.
The horizon starts to blink and I know my fifteen minutes is up. I plead for one more minute, but the deep blue sky fades back to the sterile grey walls of the break room. My boss is waiting for me as usual. I desperately mimic my previous expressions of indifference. His lifeless eyes meet mine and in that instant he knows I will do anything for more time in that world. A wicked grin spreads across his face, “Lets talk about next months quota.”
