The Western Warbler

Square dividers stretched as far as the eye could see into infinitude, or at least, until they were obscured by the dark corners of the office. Norris Ninnington sat at his desk puffing on his pipe, a small gray cloud slightly obscuring his lined and concentrated features, like clouds at the mountain's apex.

The computer screen lit the various contents strewn about his desk; newspapers, files, pictures, papers, rubbish, a half full cup of coffee which had long since become devoid of all warmth or flavor. His cubicle was lined with stacks of magazines, news papers and photographs. Large maps of foreign countries in extensive detail were strewn about the stacks. Blueprints showing major structures from all of the biggest cities in over 100 countries. Maps of another kind were also spattered throughout the mess; strange and varying weather patterns from an assortment of years and places.

Mr. Ninnington's left hand, the hand that wasn't gripping his pipe with white knuckled desperation while he chugged away at it with the conviction of a hyperactive vacuum cleaner, held loosely to the corner of a single paper lying on his knee. It was titled The Daily Eagle, and the headline underneath this read, "Tyrannical Tornados in Shanghai" followed by a picture of an entire office building, not unlike the one in which Mr. Ninnington now sat, being engulfed ravenously by a massive twister.

On his desk another paper titled The Western Warbler bore a headline reading, "Brazilian Monsoons Create New Landscapes!" Over his computer keyboard another paper displayed the headline, "Earthquakes Leave Humongous Holes In Paris!" And upon his computer screen, yet another article headline read, "Weird Weather: To Hit Denver Next!"

The paper held carelessly in his left hand finally dropped to the floor, and Mr. Ninnington came to with a start. He ran his left hand through his wispy white hair absently, and removed his right hand from his pipe to look at his watch. Half past four. There was something about the time that made his right earlobe itch, something that needed remembering. But he was too lost in thought now, too numb from the length of time spent in one place, too apathetic about everything he knew would be coming in the next four hours to care about one little thing he was forgetting. Nothing would matter by then anyway. He would be gone, just like everyone else, becoming just another sensational headline to join the rows and stacks around his cubicle, which, incidentally, wouldn't exist anymore either.

He was starting to drift away into puffing thoughtlessness again, when a loud bang from the opposing cubicle knocked him out of his chair. A six-foot tower of papers, blueprints, and magazines came cascading on top of him as he grunted in surprise. And just as he was looking up to see what it was that had startled him, there was a brilliant flash of white light, and Mr. Ninnington knew no more.