Jeff was speaking. He spoke languidly, using grandiose hand gestures which far overreached the significance of the words tumbling from his mouth. I stared at him, pretending to be interested.
"She is very Gordian," Jeff said, sipping from a steaming coffee cup, "and I don't mean that she is enigmatic and difficult to understand. What I mean to say is that she needs to be sliced in half."
I had had enough. "Jeff," I said, "I appreciate your opinions, but if it is all the same to you, I wish you would go away."
He stood, nodding in understanding, "No problem buddy, I've got work to do myself. Catch you on the flipside." He attempted to wave farewell, but only succeeded in splashing coffee onto my desk. He exited my office quickly thereafter, not realizing how close he strayed to death each time he entered my work space.
What am I talking about, you ask? It probably would be prudent of me to explain. Long ago, in the mountains of Tibet, I was cursed with immense psychic abilities, abilities good for only two things; the destruction of yaks, and as I later discovered, people named Jeff. Many Jeffs had died by my hand those past years. Only this one remained.
I don't know why I let him live. Perhaps it was the inherent absurdity of everything he said. I value absurdity greatly, and Jeff was nothing if not absurd. I decided that this was indeed the case, and I resumed my paperwork.
The clock struck six. I frowned. On one hand, this was good, because my shift ended at six. On the other hand, this was terribly odd, for I had no clock. As the sixth bell tolled, I turned slowly, dreading what I would find.
I should not have been surprised to discover a large grandfather clock behind me, but I was. I was even more surprised when the glass door in the front swung open and a man emerged from within. He was very well dressed. He glanced about my office for a moment before laying eyes upon me. He straightened his tie and seated himself in the chair that Jeff had vacated so many hours before.
"Who are you?" I said.
"I am," he replied, "The Auditor, and that," he added, nodding towards the grandfather clock, "is my Space, Time, and Reality Engine, or as I prefer to call it, STARE."
"Oh," I replied. It was all I could say.
He began examining a clipboard which I was sure he had not been holding before. The silence grew and grew until it was terribly uncomfortable and I was finally forced to break it. "So, what exactly is it that you audit?"
"Life," he said simply, not looking up, "and I must say, yours has been found wanting. I am going to have to ask you to stand and remove your shoes and prepare to step into the Annihilation Matrix." He tucked his clipboard away and looked at me expectantly.
What had begun as a strange visitation had spiraled into an unfortunate turn of events. I didn't want to die. There was so much left undone. I hadn't even gone to Disneyland yet. I debated my options.
"What is your name?" I said desperately. He frowned, clearly confused.
"Ted," he said after a few tense moments.
I threw caution to the wind. "Are you by chance a yak?"
He seemed startled. "Funny you should ask..." he said.
A minute later the room was quiet, save for the pounding of my heart. I quietly said a small prayer, thanking the powers that be for my unlikely deliverance. It was at that moment my eye caught the door of the STARE, innocently hanging open.
A minute later the door clicked shut, and the clock struck seven. I was going to Disneyland.
