At the end of the corridor was a heavy-looking red door with a metal sign at eye-level that read: Redundancy Room. Neil made his way towards it, driven more by curiosity than compliance.
Welcome to another corner of Sketches & Storytelling – The Story Sketchbook – a space where I share short bursts of fiction straight from my creative sketchbook. These stories are quick reads, but each one is a snapshot of a bigger world, a character in motion, or a moment that matters.
This one’s a little eerie, a little reflective, and like most things here, it started with a question I couldn’t shake.
Hope you enjoy the read.
Ever had one of those days at the office? You know the type. That’s it. One of ‘those’ days.
That’s exactly what Neil Gilbert’s day was. And this was a day you just couldn’t make up. Or maybe you could, but nobody would believe it.
It all started with a strange email from an unknown sender.
Neil.
We’ve noticed you. You‘re diligent. You’ve been overlooked.
Who could have sent him this? He’s been stewing for a while on missing out on a promotion he was sure of. Not out of immodesty or entitlement but from the sheer amount of work he’d put into the company and the results he’d achieved on its behalf.
Neil was a worker ant, and that was the problem. He was a worker ant trapped in an ant farm — the type of ant farm owned by a sadistic ten-year-old who loved setting fires with magnifying glasses and picking scabs off other people.
You know the type.
Anyway, back to the email. Who sent it? Was it from management? The board? He’d been overlooked for years.
Just as Neil was trying to wrap his head around the strange email, his manager approached his desk.
”Hi Neil. Could we have a brief word in my office?” Derek had a great way of making questions sound like commands. Neil nodded politely and stood up to follow Derek into his tiny kingdom, its walls dressed with fine art that made no sense but seemed to impress visiting clients enough to distract them from the contracts they were signing.
Perhaps they have recognised my worth and are offering a promotion…
Neil considered possibilities as he followed Derek’s footsteps like an infant being led to the headmaster’s office after dropping a giggly f-bomb amongst his peers during assembly.
Finally. I’ve been recognised.
Again, Neil Gilbert was by no means a man lacking humility. He was the type of man content with eating his packed lunch in the office canteen whilst his colleagues were out scoffing sushi or steak – or whatever other delicacies had fallen into their laps as a result of being better players of career snakes and ladders.
”I’m sorry Neil.” There was zero sincerity in Derek’s tone. “We’re going to have to let you go. Your position… It’s been eliminated. But you can expect a generous severance package.” He looked through Neil as though he wasn’t there and nodded.
Derek had barely taken his after-delivering-bad-news sigh when the security guard – Tristan – walked in with an empty box.
Stunned and lost for words, Neil graciously accepted the cardboard death offering from Tristan and wandered sullenly back to his desk without a noise.
This won’t take me long…
Neil kept his work area tidy. The only things on his desk that he owned were his glasses case, a small wooden chest of buttermints, and a tattered, fading baby scan.
He took the walk of shame through the office with his mostly empty box and the security guard dogging his footsteps as he headed towards the elevator. Once there, Tristan whispered, “I’m sorry to see you go. You’re the only person who ever said good morning like you actually meant it. Sorry about this.”
”You’re just doing your job. I don’t blame you in the slightest. It’s been a weird day. Goodbye, Tristan.” Neil replied.
Neil stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the ground floor. It felt like the longest 44-floor decline he’d ever done.
Finally, floor zero.
But the elevator didn’t stop.
-1…
-2…
-3…
Once it reached -13, the elevator heaved and grunted to a sudden stop, almost taking Neil off his feet.
Ding—
The doors opened and revealed a long, dimly lit corridor with closed doors on either side, haphazardly staggering their way along the corridor like a drunk making their way along a hotel hallway.
At the end of the corridor was a heavy-looking red door with a metal sign at eye-level that read: Redundancy Room. Neil made his way towards it, driven more by curiosity than compliance. As he gestured to knock on the door, it opened, and the light from inside flooded the corridor with blinding light.
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