Twist+-+The+Choice

Ben heard the continuing sounds of ‘click-click’ of the many keyboards in the room. The thirty-five year old scratched his head and looked at the white screen in front of him. Sitting in his cubicle, which was among many other gray, boring, cubicles, he was consulting whether he should go out of the small area into the break room or keep going on the PowerPoint that was needed for the meeting tomorrow. Just like other days. Ben brushed off the stray bang out of his eyes, and went with the latter. Just like other days. Beep. The sound of his small, red cell phone, one of the only things he owned that wasn’t gray, alerting him of a new text message. Ben opened the synthetic leather holster and pulled it out. He flipped it open, and pressed the ‘Messages’ key. Rubbing his thumb over the keypad, he skimmed the black letters in the text. Sighing, he put the cell phone away. He continued on his PowerPoint, changing the colors of the backgrounds and typing in more information. Beep. Ben rolled his eyes to no one in particular and kept looking at the Acer computer. Beep. He really wished this would stop. “Can’t decide yourself, hm?” Ben grumbled to himself. Looking on the clock in the bottom-right hand corner, Ben saw how close it was to going home. He almost dreaded seeing the time. Ben leaned back in the gray chair and pushed back his black hair. He went back forward and turned his brown eyes to the PC. The screen was still on, showing him the work he had accomplished. He reached over and took the mouse in his hand, and pointed the arrow towards ‘Start’ and pressed the ‘Shut Down’ button. The Acer screen went black, and Ben got up. He swept his coat and his briefcase into his arms and left the gray prison he was forced to work in. His black dull, shoes stood out against the brown step stones that led to his home. He glanced down at his watch and suppressed a sigh. Pushing some of the short locks of black hair away form his eyes, and walked towards the door. Pushing the dark brown door open he simultaneously yelled, “I’m home!” The sounds of small feet rushed towards his way and in almost two seconds flat the grip of his three-year old was on his legs. “Hi Daddy!” she yelled. “Hi Maggie! How was your day?” He cooed as he picked the small child up. She laughed and soon she was off again to who knows where. “Well, honey, I hope you’re happy. I texted you three times. Not once! Three times, and yet, I still don’t have an answer on what you want for dinner!” Melinda shouted as he walked into the kitchen. “Fine then, I want pork chops.” Ben said, surrendering. “Finally!” Melinda yelled.