A ray of the setting sun peered through the window seeping past the tiny gaps in the blinds. The escaped light touched a calendar on the wall.
The current date read, “November 13, 2136.” From the period, the light began to melt its way down toward a digital clock sitting atop a wooden desk. The time flashed 4:30 p.m.
Time is winding down, the temperature is dropping, and everything seemed to be lazy.
A deep sigh came from the desk. The groan came from Sagasu Inai, a 24-year-old who is currently a railroad-maintenance clerk. Sagasu looked miserable just staring at the clock. This was life. Waking up to get ready for work, only to come home to sleep for the next day. It was a grueling cycle.
Before Sagasu can fully indulge in sorrow, a door flung open breaking the silence.
“Sagasu! Submit the materials you need to repair the rail and get it done ASAP,” demanded a man whose figure is similar to that of a basketball player. The hoarse voice plagued by years of smoking came from this six foot something, 200-pound man.
Appearance wise, he is not kept and dresses only in a black business suit sprinkled with white splats of ash and dust. The background of this man is mysterious. The only explanation to how he got this job as yardmaster at the railroad is because his parents owned it.
Before Sagasu can respond, the door was slammed back shut.
Sagasu took a heavy breath and glanced at the light leaking from the window.
“This is my life,” Sagasu thought. “This will be the death of me.”