The ViewAs he proofread the letter for the last time, his right eye drifted away from the screen and caught the sunlight glinting off the harbor. Despite the seriousness of the work, the corners of his lips moved almost of their own accord into a relaxed smile. But then, the view always did that to him. The view was the best part of his job.
His was the best office in the building, and the view was why. Clients, visitors, even the other jealous investment bankers in the firm would remark on the view the minute they walked into his office. 15 floors up, huge ceiling-to-floor windows, all giving everyone who entered the office a panoramic view of the ocean. Not even the president of the company had a view as good as his. It even had a part of the window that could swivel open. It wasn't a very big opening. Maybe 18 inches wide and 6 feet tall. And you could only have it open during the summer, and even then only when it wasn't too windy. But when you did open it, as you could today, the entire office would fill with the sea air. The smell of the ocean dancing gently around your nose, the sharp tang of salt tantalizing your lips…the view was a full body experience.
But it wasn't just the actual experience of the view that made him love it so. It was what the view represented. It represented success. It represented hard work and sacrifice. It was the rewards of being the most successful vice-president in the most successful investment firm in the Northeast. It was the wife he never married, the children he never had, the family he never spoke to. And most of all, it meant that he was the best, leaving those who were weaker or less able in his dust, while he rose above it all, overlooking the ocean in the way a king would survey his domain.
But today, he could not linger on it long. His eyes strayed back to his computer screen and he fixed the last sentence. Finally satisfied, his perfectionist nature sated, he printed the letter to the printer in his office. He knew this would explain everything better than he ever could in person. He had never been able to express himself the way he wanted, unless he could do it on paper. He was sure it would answer all the President's questions. About the millions of dollars in profits fabricated. About his statistics inflated and his intricate shell games. About how he could manipulate the company and the clients…all for a view.
He stood at the windows and stared out at the view for what he knew would be the last time. Today, they would finally discover what he had done as his house of cards collapsed around them all. He knew they would strip the view away from him forever. He wanted to drink it in one last time. Imprint it, sear it, burn it into his memory. As he did, his lips once again pulled involuntarily into a smile. He couldn't stop smiling even if he wanted to.
And still smiling, he squeezed out of his open window, and jumped, arms spread, to embrace his view.
Yet another Jslice masterpiece!
Thanks to Ben, Sheri and Sarah, whose conversation about the future finally gave me inspiration to write for the WSC. And thanks to those who encouraged me to write something for the WSC in the first place. You know who you are.
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gotta lvoe the loaf 
Sandra, Panama's Sole Survivor
