An Explosion of Flavour
“Christ, what a day”.
Although prone to hyperbole and delusions of grandeur, Tim felt he wasn’t being unrealistic when he felt like some beleaguered German general fighting an unwinnable war on two fronts.
Both his colleagues and his clients seemed to be engaged in an implacable, terroristic war against his psychic wellbeing.
It was a situation that caused him a continual, low-level degree of distress.
His thinning, silver hair was evidence of this.
Yet, here he was, stood in a Co-operative supermarket in the north of England - looking for at least a semi-digestible meal to sate the paltry and unearned hunger he had developed in his office cubicle that day.
After some pondering and half-arsed browsing, Tim landed upon a compact, semi-quality looking sweet ‘n’ sour chicken ready meal. It promised little - but it demanded little in return, too.
Pulling it out of the open-faced refrigerated cabinet, Tim teamed his selected ready meal with a four-pack of cheap continental lager.
Anything to dull the banality of his existence. And, so it was with provisions secured that Tim slouched out of the Co-op and began the trudge home to his one-bedroom apartment.
And, it was a ‘trudge’ in the truest sense of the word.
The wind battered his countenance. The rain swirled around his body. His carrier bag barely remained within his grasp as the elements assaulted him.
It was an unpleasant situation that was only further compounded by the wave of fetid, stagnant water that cascaded over him as a passing car ploughed through a vast pool by the roadside.
He was thoroughly drenched, worn-out, and pissed off.
It was the polish to a turd of a day.
After being accosted by several beggars and having his left-leg soaked by the ‘sploosh’ of a crooked paving slab, Tim finally staggered through the front door of his abode.
Having peeled off his sodden attire, Tim meandered over to this kitchen (more of a kitchenette really). The ready meal was clutched in his hand - the anticipation building.
“At least I have this”.
The instructions of the ready meal rang true. It was easy to prepare and cook.
These were the sentiments at the forefront of Tim’s mind as he plopped the ready meal into the bowels of the microwave and pressed ‘seven minutes’.
It was a remarkably unremarkable seven minutes.
The time ticked by and Tim spent it doing what so many millennials do - doomscrolling on social media.
When the microwave ‘pinged’ - to signify the conclusion of the seven minutes - the reaction was immediate.
The sweet and sour chicken ignited immediately - exploding in a massive fireball, causing the carcass of the microwave to rip apart as an enormous shockwave spread outwards.
As you can imagine, this was the last thing Tim had been expecting.
He was immediately enveloped by the enormous fireball - his body and mind being completely immolated.
It was the perfect end to a shit day.
But, at least he didn’t have to go to work tomorrow.