Foreboding fiction by Dan Marvin
It was a rather cloudy day in 2009 that I decided, once and for all, to give Tuesdays a miss. I had tried with past, misguided attempts to simply circumvent Tuesday. I took a sick day here or canceled an appointment there in the desperate hope that it would be enough to stave off the devastation Tuesday typically wrought in my life. This time, however, I was quite sincere in my desire to cease to exist for 14.3% of the week.
I’m not even clear on when I discovered Tuesday’s scheming ways. For most people, Monday is their stated nemesis. The first day of the work week is a more likely target. We are ripped away from our leisure pursuits and thrust once more into the company of co-workers we did not select. However, Monday is more of a tepid phantom, a perception that things have changed for the worst. Tuesday is the real demon, as real as plague or fire or locusts of the Old Testament. Of the bad events in my life, only a precious few have occurred on days apart from Tuesday.
Armed with this insight into my life, it was only natural that I would try to find a way to correct the imbalance. I went so far as to ask a voodoo practitioner for an amulet or spell to protect me from whatever swirling darkness was casting its pall over my Tuesdays. I saw the hesitation that told me everything I needed to know; in his mind I was as crazy as a loon. Perhaps I am, at that.
So, fast forward with me to present time and this particular dark and gloomy Tuesday. I think Tuesday knows I’m on to it and is trying to fight back with thick clouds and spitting rain. On this Tuesday, I will simply cease to be. On Wednesday I will pick back up with my life already in progress and carry on. I will not be impacted by whatever evil Tuesday has in store for me this week.
The answering machine is turned off. My email account is set to spit out a generic out-of-office message. The doors are locked, my cell phone is off, the post office knows not to deliver mail today. I slip into my bathroom and look at my more advanced preparations. There stands a mirrored box, reflecting back all light and energy. Inside is a pool of body-temperature water. As I lower myself into the isolation chamber, I shut the top and there is no noise, no smell, no sight, no sensation of any kind. Sighing in the anticipation of victory, I slip down into the water and pull up my goggles.
My goggle catches slightly and then gives way when the elastic band stretches over my ear. The fingers sliding it into place fly up and the nail scratches my cornea. I scream. On my way to the hospital I hear the clarion call of the siren. To my mind, it is the sound of Tuesday laughing.
The End
