Writer Left

“ANY-way!”

He quit.

In the volumeless silence that ensued – a silence so arid one could hear a cursor flicker -- a sea of heads (bespectacled, ear-budded, some even “nappy”) popped up over their dividers across the acres of cube farm we call the Writing Floor here on the 6^th floor of the entertainment division of Mister Smitty Enterprises, LLC.

Those heads blinked, swiveled, sniffled and, in a wave, picked up phones and called, eyes roaming to more heads appearing until all are focused in concentric circles. Then, like planets orbiting the erstwhile sun (now black hole) of the Quitter, the Leaver, his leaving forms a vacuum into which more and more attention gets sucked until still others are drawn from their desks, up from their chairs, some even out of their cubicles(!), to peer over at the evacuated place

The image is almost too horrible: something akin in despicability to seeing Mistah Kurtz engage finally in unspeakable acts as shameless as the words “To Be Continued.”