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The Book Of ForeShadowed Sorrows Tale V

The Smirk Of Fate
Or
"One Never Knows..."

He'd Hurried to work, as always, gotten stuck in traffic, again as always, and been exasperated beyond compare within a fifteen minute period.
He'd hoped the day would turn out better.
The morning reports sat on his desk thumbing their noses at the poor sap, er, fool assigned their custody. Eying them with suspicion and dread, he sighed and sank into his seat.
It took three hours, but he finally bullied through the voluminous hordes and their sign-in-triplicate bretheren despite their calls for reinforcements.
And then, in his cubicled world, it all came to:

"Good morning."

"Oh! Good morning Nan. How are you today-" the bark of a .38 both cut him off and answered his question. He staggered, spun, his blood spattering the console systems besides him, his hand clutching his chest as he sank to his knees on the cheap business office rug.

"Why?" his eyes pleaded with her as he looked up.
Her hand pulled his head back by his hair, she kissed him roughly, and the last bark of finality from her .38 was her only reply.

Here, the Book of Foreshadowed Sorrows briefly ponders upon the many senseless endings held within it's shattered pages before turning it's parch gaze upon further tales buried within.