Two Die

December 29, 2011
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Sawyer rolled his two small die rolled across the table. He was supposed to be working, but, evidently, he grew distracted. He turned his head. The clock looked blankly at him. With the minute hand approaching the six, it was almost 9:30, within seconds Randall should step into his office. He tossed his die two more times as he heard Randall's footsteps approaching. His back faced the open section of his cubicle. He could feel Randall's presence.

"I'm going to need these copied." Randall talked down to everyone in the office, while he was the head of the department, it didn't give him the right to act so superior. He was always asking for copies, and everyday, like clockwork the copies were made. Sawyer reached for the stack of papers and headed off to the secluded copy room. It wasn't really Sawyer's choice to follow this procedure, but if he didn't make the copies, his whole day would be set back. He imagined it like the butterfly effect, his life was so sensitive, if it is at all altered, chaos would erupt, and that's what he feared most.

He opened the door and stepped into the room, as usual it was empty. The copy machine, roughly three years outdated, sat in the corner with it's yellowish tint. A new one was clearly needed, but he couldn't bring himself to get one. The way Sawyer saw it was, why fix something that doesn't need to be fixed? That copy machine had never failed him before, so why try something new?. The lettering on all of the buttons were gone and faded, but because Sawyer had been doing this for so long, he could press those buttons with his eyes closed. And that tiny touch screen, it required extra force due to it's overuse. As he made the copies, he rolled his die. His colleagues didn't seem to understand the die because they appeared to be nothing but ordinary die. Four sides, white, tiny black dots; standard die. They failed to notice that they were weighted; no matter what, they would always land on a six and three. Sawyer was addicted. He would roll them forever if he could, but that wouldn't fit into his schedule. The light inside the copy machine lit up, back and forth, back and forth.

Suddenly it stopped. There was a brief moment of silence, before the chaos occurred. The copy machine began spitting paper across the room and onto the light spruce floor. Merely blank, the papers covered the floor like new fallen snow. Sawyer had never prepared for such an incident and didn't have much of a technical background to be able to stop the madness. With each piece of paper that was launched out violently and then floated gently to the ground, he could feel himself falling behind. When the copy machine ran out of paper, he spent almost 20 minutes cleaning up. His whole day was changed. He was a little behind on his work, which led him to staying in the office late, which led him to head home later than usual, which ultimately lead him to missing the 7 o'clock news. He had to stay awake to watch the 11 o'clock news. Different anchors, different stories, everything changed. The next morning when he woke, he was tired. He hadn't stayed up that late in years. As soon as he got his life resorted, he realized how exciting it was, never knowing what might come next. He found time to buy a new pair of die, unweighted and rolls them any chance he gets and to this day he uses that same copy machine, hoping that, one day, it will instill havoc in his life once again.

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