Home at last! This is my yet ‘sharpened’ short story. I’m not sure if it will work out or not. Tell me what you think or what you think should be improved on. Thanks so much.

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He moved the mouse left. No emails. Right. Click. No comments. F5. No updates. He sank into his seat, wrapped his legs around him and teared. Jamie was supposed to reply to his message 2 hours earlier, the time when she’s supposed to be on the computer.

Left. Click. Sent Messages. Jamie0356—sent, 7.35pm.

He checked again for the Message Failure Notice. None.

Jim shut his eyes and reached down into his back, fingering the sore that never healed. He skirts the corners of the scab with his index, she must have gotten up late today. He pressed the sore between his index and his middle, perhaps she has got to go to work earlier today. 2 hours, maybe she’ll be here, maybe she’ll be here.

Right. Click. F5. No new messages. He felt something sticky between his index and the mouse. He rubbed it between his thumb and reached down into his back and fingered the sore with his middle. He loved the feeling.

He held it to his nose and wiped it across briefly to waft in the smell. He loved the scent. He fit his right middle fingernail into his left with a grinding motion, lifting out a swirl of dried red goo. With a practiced hand, he swiftly reached for a Kleenex, or where the box of tissues was supposed to be.

It was not there.

He glanced briefly to the left and right of him and sank back down into his seat. He passed his soiled finger absentmindedly along the hem of his shirt. A red blot was already forming at the back of his white shirt.

It was routine.

It comforted him to peel away at the scabs, growing out on them before they grow out on him. It gave him a sense of control. Left. Click. F5. No new messages. If only Jamie was a scab, something he could control at will, when to seal, when to open up.

The air was making him sick, the air-conditioning would not work. Right. Click. F5. No new messages. The air was choking him, he looked at the burgeoning red spot at the back of his shirt. He needed the Kleenex. His legs were numb, he could not go anywhere.

He did not need to.

The computer contained his whole life. The sandwich expires, the air around his expires, when the scab dries, Jim expires— the computer would outlive him. Left. Click. F5. F5. F5. F5. F5.

F5.

Jamie0356: Jim, do you want us to have a break? Jim, do you want us to have a break? Jim, do you want us to have a break?

F5.

F5.

Jamie0356: Jim, do you want us to have a break? Jim, do you want us to have a break? Jim, do you want us to have a break?

F5.

F5.

F5.

Refreshing it would help, refreshing it would help, perhaps refreshing ourselves would help.

Scrubbing hard at his back, he felt a strange sense of joy as a trickle of blood formed a thin stream down his spine. It’s cold. It tingles.

He sat up straight to let it flow right down.

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