This moment is eternity.

Sorry I haven't updated, I haven't really had any major ideas for my story, and I'm realizing (ie it's an ongoing thing, Ive realized for a while) that I'm not suited to write a proper story with my level of literary skill, which clearly is not very good. So sorry, but for now, I'm gonna attempt to focus on better myself. Perhaps I'll put up stuff from my creative writing class... YES. I shall do that. Ok, im out.
Jon

He then headed straight for his own office. After walking a brief while through the corridor, he arrived at his door, and carefully twisted the knob. He gently closed the door behind him, and felt quite glad that he had not bumped into any of his coworkers. Although they were his intellectual equals, this rarely meant a good conversation between them. Usually it bogged down to economics and especially politics, with which he already had to deal with during work. Why talk of it outside of the office? How was talking about a crisis over lunch at some nice restaurant beneficial to solving it, since most of the people just argued anyways? Victor barely had enough time to contemplate what he was going to begin work on, when the door open violently, and a head popped in.

Once again his mind began to wander, and although this may have looked odd to any bystander who may have passed through the corridor, this consideration had simply exited his mind. Contemplating the scent before him, he closed his eyes momentarily, took a deep breath, and felt sufficiently awake to get to work.

After greeting the secretary at the front desk, he followed the hallway to the right, walking by the offices that branched off to the sides. The whitewashed walls were decorated with bits of classical art, and in certain places stools held delicate crystal vases. Within the vases were assorted flowers, of all colors and types; stopping in front of one, quickly glancing from side to side to verify that he was alone, Victor smelled the myriad of fragrances emanating from the bouquet.

Grabbing the cold doorknob, he gently swung open the door on the right. He entered his work place sluggishly, still somewhat dazed from the startling jolt out of sleep that morning. The carpet was a pleasant surprise to his feet, compared to the cement floor he had been walking on outside. It was a luxury his office workers were most proud of, and anyone caught soiling the Bordeaux-colored carpet was reprimanded harshly. Victor did his best to remove the muck that had built up underneath his shoes before entering. After a few moments of intense foot scuffling on the rug, he closed the door behind him and walked into the main office.

The office he worked at was on the fifth floor, and after a few minutes he reached the landing to the fifth floor.
There was a window directly to his right, and one to his left. They were not transparent, but were translucent with a mosaic pattern upon them; so the one to the left allowed in a blurred ray of sunlight into the otherwise unlit corridor. Beside each window was a door, both facing each other, side exits to the offices on either side of the hall and elevator. Facing the elevator door for a moment, he continued down the hallway, which was directly to its right. A few paces and he arrived outside the two main entrances to the offices.

Entering the building, he went straight for the elevator. Just like the bus, it was improbable he would be able to get a place, not that it mattered to him, and so after a brief glance to see if there was room to accommodate himself, and seeing that there was no such room, he headed up the stairs. They were similar to spiral stairs, except that they only turned 180 degrees before reaching the next landing, and continued in this fashion up until the roof. Of course he had never been up to the roof, never daring to go beyond the seventh or eighth floors.

And then there was the matter of Adriana. He felt a rush of energy through him every time he passed by her tent at the market. He rarely spoke to her; he was not the outgoing type, and thus had a difficult time even mustering up a few words of greeting each time. Victor was the quiet type, and though he held strong emotions inside him, they barely ever manifested themselves. If he only he could grasp at life itself, then he truly would be happy. His thoughts lingered on her face, and the beauty that radiated from it, while the bus slowed to the stop outside of his building.
Still in his state of deep reflection, he nearly missed the stop, but quickly scrambled off before it could pull away. Looking down the street, he yawned, covering his mouth, and meandered into the complex.

The government seemed stable enough, and there were enough problems elsewhere to leave their own nation out of the spotlight. The United States cared little about their state of affairs; this was seen as ideal for the party. As long as they had an open market to America, and the US government did not stick its nose where it was unwanted, relations between the two countries blossomed. Victor cared little for the ideological struggle going on in this so-called “Cold War,” and his government reflected his indifference.

The world seemed so tangible to him. His recent promotion at work, a result of him distinguishing himself in the eyes of those above him, was based on both his loyalty to the department and party, and on the satisfactory work Victor obliged himself to do. He was adequately suited for his job, for he had a good mental capacity, even if he wasn’t a genius. Yet it was his overt enthusiasm that helped him excel at what he did. It interested him a bit, but it was not a passion of his. He did not seem to have a passion for anything really, other than service for the party. He certainly was not skyrocketing to the top, but at this rate he should have a respectable position in the party by the time old age came around.