A Second Go

The office door clicks open and Malcolm steps inside.

‘Take a seat’, says the grey clerk from behind his grey desk.

Malcolm pulls up a brown plastic stool and plants his bottom on it.

The clerk looks up from his papers.

‘So you want to come back?’ he asks.

‘Yep’, says Malcolm.

‘You want to have another crack. Is that it?’

‘Well no. Not exactly.’

‘You think you deserve two goes?’

‘I don’t think ‘deserve’ comes into it…’

‘You knew the score’, says the clerk, spitting his gum into its wrapper, which he then screws up and lobs across the office and into the bin. ‘You knew how it was. You knew that once you ended it, that was it. Finished. Done. Kaput.’

‘I was young.’

‘Most of you lot are young…’ mutters the clerk.

‘Us lot?’ asks Malcolm.

‘Hangings’, says the clerk.

‘Right.’

The clerk looks back down at his desk.

‘Could I not just come back as an observer, there but not really there? Like a read-only file or something? Everyone can see me, but they can’t engage. It might make them all feel a little better. Just to have me there.’

‘You saw the funeral then?’

‘I did.’

‘And you saw all the tears?’

‘How did you know?’

‘There are always tears. Well, almost always.’ The clerk looks up and smiles. ‘You didn’t think anyone would come?’

‘No, it wasn’t that. I wasn’t thinking about that... before I did it. No, I wasn't really thinking about anything at all.’

'Well, let me be clear', says the clerk. 'The answer's no.'

'No?' asks Malcolm.

'No,' says the clerk.

'You mean -'

'I mean no.'

'That's it?'

'That's it.'

'You could be a little -'

'I'll see you at snack time.'

'But -'

'Half eleven in the dome. Same time same place, every night.'

The clerk looks up at Malcolm.

'Don't cry', he says.

'I'm sorry', says Malcolm.

'You'll get used to death.'

'Will I?' asks Malcolm.

'Yes,' says the clerk, offering a tissue. 'But I'm afraid that really is it.'