Somewhere in south east London, in a place where colourless concrete towers crowd around generic coffee shops and over priced bakeries, like gravestones watching over their dead occupants. A place where 'community' is the name of the local spinning studio with membership deliberately priced at £98 a month, ensuring that it remains anything but it's namesake. A place that someone, without a hint of irony or humour or mirth, decided to call a Village, Ross wakes up.
The watch on Ross's left wrist (better to monitor his blood circulation) buzzes him awake at exactly 5.58am. He sits up in bed and swipes through the stats glowing up at him from the watch.
“Damn.”
He has had a bad night's sleep. It's irrefutable. His REM was too short and it looks like he actually woke up for 23 minutes at 4am. Ross doesn't remember this but it's not good. He sets a reminder for his watch to notify him to go to bed early this evening.
With his back against the headboard Ross fetches his phone from the bedside table to check his work emails. He's a senior manager at a fast growing, net zero focused consultancy firm so it's important that he is seen to be online and prioritising his work first thing. Sets a good example to the troops. After 45 minutes of emails he stops to check his progress. 8 more emails than yesterday's session, a 12.5% increase. Not bad.
Ross forces himself out of bed and throws on the running gear he prepared last night during his bedtime routine. He's training for the London marathon (again) and sometimes can't help but be amazed that he can achieve so much in just one day. Trainers on, Ross sets off through The Village to get a steady paced 10k in before he has to get ready for work.
Back from running and just before he hops into the shower, Ross quickly masturbates to his favourite pornstar's new instagram post. Good to clear the mind, Ross finds.
He heads back into the bedroom to put on his suit for work. Emily, his wife, is just getting up.
“Morning Emily.”
“Morning.”
“Don't leave the shower on too long today ok?”
They got married in Italy at the end of last year. Picture perfect. Insta verified. Great wedding. Ross and Emily had both crushed their targets the year before so, weighty bonuses received they decided that they shouldn't have to stick with a boring UK wedding. You just couldn't rely on the weather. And most of their friends (unsuccessful ones aside) could do with an extra holiday! There was something so much more authentic about doing a wedding in Italy, with staff that were actually friendly and good looking. They had been to Rome once a few years before and decided they much preferred Italian culture. So it really was the wedding of the year.
Suit on Ross heads to the kitchen to brew the coffee, ready for their scheduled ‘10 minute morning marriage maker’ chat. It’s the perfect way to keep their marriage strong and today Ross needs Emily to proof read an email he’s written to the local shop to make a formal complaint about it’s over use of plastic. But first Emily has to have her morning coffee, she’s completely unbearable before she’s had her coffee (she admits this herself).
Walking to the tube Ross sees an advert for a new running headband which captures not just all the usual data but is specifically made to analyse your sweat, helping you to optimise hydration and performance in one. Ross quickly tells his watch to remind him to buy the headband. Since he got his promotion he’s trying to make sure he keeps up to date with the latest tech, it’s important to him.
Once into the office Ross is having a quick scroll through his phone when Denise pokes him on the shoulder. Annoyed, he taps his headphones (but doesn’t take them off) and makes what he thinks is a ‘what do you want’ face. He finds it so frustrating when people just want to ‘have a conversation’ with him when he’s in the middle of something incredibly important like reading an insightful post from the global head of finance of Darkstone. He continues to nod at Denise, baffled that she hasn’t picked up on the cues he’s giving her.
“Mmmm, yeah exactly.”
He slowly turns away from her and looks at his watch. Shit. This conversation is spiking his heart rate. For fucks sake Denise. He faces his computer screens (4 of them), picks up his phone and taps ‘play.’
Later that evening Ross steps out of the office into the thick London air and checks his phone. 18 TiedIn notifications. 2 from recruiters from very prestigious consultancy firms pleading for a quick call to discuss some exciting opportunities in net zero finance, a handful of comments and likes on his latest post (an in depth assessment of how the green movement needs capitalism) and the usual notifications of people viewing his profile. Including a view from the new hot secretary in the office. Ross gets a bit hard.
“Can you feel the wind at the back of your mouth?”
Ross glances up from his phone to find a young woman looking directly at him. She’s quite small with long brown hair being buffeted around her delicate face.
“Err sorry?”
The woman tilts her head at him just a fraction, a quizzical smile appearing across her lips.
“I’ve never really thought about it before but if you open your mouth really wide and point it right in the direction of the wind, can you feel the wind hitting the back of your mouth?”
As she’s saying this she opens her mouth wide and half yawns half grins into the warm city wind. With her mouth still wide she turns back to Ross.
“I’m not sure if I can really. It's a bit warmer than I thought it would be which is odd isn't it but I thought given I can feel the wind all over my face that it would be in my mouth too but I can't really feel it. Give it a try.”
Ross feels a wave of confused anger go through him. What is this oddball girl on about? Why are there so many goddamn weirdos about these days. If this nymph like woman had instead been a man, Ross would have told him to fuck off. Ross isn’t afraid of a little bit of confrontation. He’d signed up to White Collar Boxing in Shoreditch last year and over 8 weeks had become an absolute weapon. Yes he may have ended up losing his fight and needing some minor surgery for a dislocated ear but the lads in the office definitely respect him more now.
And yet Ross isn’t able to turn away. He glances sideways at the woman again and sees that she is back to staring directly at him, right into his eyes. A wide grin has crept onto her face matched by soft, sparkly deep green eyes which shimmer at him. He feels uncomfortable being looked at like that. The woman tucks a lock of her messy auburn hair behind her ear and tilts her head at him again, waiting for a response.
To be fair she is quite fit Ross thinks. Like a butcher assessing cuts of meat Ross does a quick mental scan over her; tits (small but perky and…can I see nipples through her top?), arse (good but needs to up her squats) and legs (covered by a long skirt, clearly isn’t proud of them).
“Ermmm. I think I’d better be…off.” Ross says, still not sure what this woman actually wants. The woman doesn’t break eye contact and he sees something there that he’s not quite sure about, what is it? Pity? It’s almost like she feels sorry for him for some reason.
Ross steps backwards and is hit by a bus. And in that moment he experiences a sudden rush of images and thoughts and feelings crashing through him like bursts of white hot electric light.
Winning his first big client at work. Smashed off his face on coke at the office Christmas party. His Dad hugging him in a way he’d never felt before on the anniversary of his Mum’s death. Updating spreadsheets at work. Screens and screens and screens. Fighting with Emily over why she wanted to hold hands in public.
And in amongst the waves washing over him a tiny, momentary flicker of something like regret. A small but confident voice that whispered words to Ross which in that final moment made him totally and completely desperate to let life in.
A notification pings up on his watch.
'You are dead.'
