I sat at my office desk, silent, and watched the world go by through the window opposite to me, with my eyes relaxed and my mouth grinning uncontrollably. I looked like I was pleasuring myself, not that I actually was, but I didn't really mind. Mainly because that was my resting face, and you can't really prevent it. It wasn't like anyone was going to stop and question it, though. The office was quiet and empty. And dark. I guess not many people tend to stay after hours. I guess not many people need to stay after hours because they need to fill out extra paperwork because they spilt their boiling hot coffee on their manager. Their evil, corrupt, unfair manager, with the adjectives given as a compliment because it shows he was actually good at something. But I guess it was my fault that I suddenly had the urge to trip over an invisible brick or something and pour all of my freshly made cup of coffee, which I was planning on enjoying, directly onto his shirt, which happened to be white, knowing I'd be given an overly exaggerated punishment for doing so. The time had just passed twelve, and I hadn't even touched the second (out of four) pile of papers. This is torture. Literal torture. But it was nice to be away from everyone for a while.

"Harris, sir—uh, ma'am... You sure you don't need any help? I have the feeling that you're not going to be able to finish all that paperwork, and you look like you're about to fall asleep. I've already finished all my stuff, and I actually wouldn't mind—"

"I'm fine, and I'm sure of it. Thanks for the offer." I calmly responded.

I'd forgotten she was still there. A polite little kid, she is (mostly). Megan Thompson, daughter of Alex and Neil Thompson, and fourteen years of age. It was such a shame for such an innocent kid like her to go through so much in a year, with almost half of her family, including both of her parents, ending up under the ground, stuck in a peaceful eternal slumber. Something I feel like getting into at the moment. She'd snuck in through a secret back door on the bottom floor she'd found a while back, which she does often. Anyway, back to work. 'This paperwork isn't going to fill itself out' the manager had said before he left me in this damn office. Those words echoed through my head.

Megan weaved in and out of the other cubicles, and ended up at mine. She leant down and rested her elbows on my desk. I looked up from the paper and stared at her with my unpreventable smile, and she stared back with a regular one.

"Sweetie, you need to go home. I'm not the only one here who looks like they need sleep. I'll try to leave as soon as possible so you woun't be home alone, but until then, you go and get some rest."

"But Harris, I'm fourteen. I'm sure one night of no sleep isn't going to damage me."

"But Meg, I'm twenty-five. Even I still need sleep"

"I don't see you doing that though."

"Well, just not for the past few days, because I'm an adult and I have to work. But you, young lady, have no excuse. So get going." I responded in my best parenting voice.

She continued to argue with me, but there was no way in hell she could beat me, so she eventually gave up. I offered her a lift home, but she rejected and walked. It was a cold night. I waved to her from an open window on the forty-second level, and she waved back before turning her head back and continuing to walk along an empty path. Maybe it wasn't such a good thing to let a young lady walk alone in the middle of the night along the busy city streets, but then again, it's not her first time. Being a guardian is hard. I turned my head back to the piles of compressed tree corpses on my desk and sighed. Being an adult is hard, too. I walked back down to my desk and sat down in my swivel chair. I press my pen down hard onto one of the thousands of pieces of paper, writing down word after word, note after note, and fall into a trance-like state that lasted for another few hours before I realised it was probably time to go back to Megan.

—

I fumbled the key into the slot of my apartment door and twisted, pushing it open with my shoulder, for convenience. My arms were piled up with paper and full reusable shopping bags.

"Did you get anything for me?" Megan asked, as joyful and exited as a dog that hadn't seen its owner in twenty years, "Perhaps something that starts in 'S' and ends in 'marties'

"I did..." I replied, causing Megan's face to glow with anticipation, "But I left it at the shop. And the entrance fee for that shop happens to be a dollar and ninety five cents."

Megan's expression changed to unimpressed. I do this every time. I placed the bags and paper on the kitchen table and threw myself onto my futon, feeling like I could slip into a deep sleep instantly. And that is what I did. I felt like I could hear Megan saying something just before, but it was too late, my mental state had already slipped down into the dark pit of harmless unconsciousness.