Monday the 13th

With his hands held up in front of his chest, Lander cried out in desperation. Peering through a melancholic mist all of his own make-believing he asked “What good do tears do?” before going on to query other matters out loud. This was no new thing. He could talk the paint off the walls, but although his workmates had perfected the art of ignoring him, this time their studied disinterest in his soul-searching was down to the fact their boss was on her way over. 

Unaware of this fact, Lander went on. He wept as if no one was looking. He was just beginning to proclaim again, saying “When your sadness only brings you more sadness and the relief of tears only gives you a headache and more reasons to cry, then what good…” when his boss laid a hand on his shoulder and asked him to come to the office. This would be the third job he’d lost since the turn of the year.

This scrap of narrative is supposed to be part of a story based on Kafka's 'Description of a Struggle'. I decided it would be interesting to put the main character, who rambles and rants, in everyday situations, where his rambling and ranting would be out of place.