The Elongated Week
· 6 min read
The first time K. distinctly felt something was wrong was on what should have been a Friday afternoon. Sunlight slanted through the blinds, casting long, tired patches of light on the floor. The air was thick with the false sense of ease that heralded the coming weekend. However, when he habitually glanced at the wall calendar, he found the mark next to the date wasn't pointing to a day off, but rather a symbol he had never seen before – scrawled, yet possessing a certain official authority. It resembled a distorted character for 'work', tightly enclosed in a circle. He rubbed his eyes, but the symbol stubbornly remained.
"Isn't... isn't today Friday?" he muttered, his voice barely audible, as if afraid of disturbing something.