Horror Scope

Chapter One

It's my 28th birthday today, not that anyone in the office remembered.

Lunch-break was always the worst thing about working in this office, as it was so far away from the town there was quite literally nothing to do. So much so that you were almost glad to get back to work. I would have quite happily worked through lunch and left work early except for the new EU regulations making work-breaks mandatory. Situated equidistant between two small market towns whose residents had been feuding over who-knows-what since God-knows-when, by the time you'd left the office, driven to one of the towns and parked it was almost time to head back to work.

So this is how I came to spend my 28th Birthday lunch eating home-made sandwiches in the same room as 3 Heat readers and two mouth breathers.

The conversation was as mundane as usual, mostly about last nights television and about how someone in accounting's has "the cancer". I have always loved how stupid people can compare life-threatening illnesses to their insignificant ailments, such as varicose veins or localised arthritis, and that they can talk about it with the same throwaway insignificance that they place on Coronation Street. Or maybe the ongoing saga of Vera Duckworth is really important to them, and they're talking about cancer in the same revered tones they reserve for the hallowed Corrie, signifying their fear and respect for the big C.

I absent-mindedly flicked through today's copy of the Sun newspaper. You have to admire the Sun (no, really, you do, hear me out on this). Other newspapers try to create and target false markets, the pseudo intellectuals who read the telegraph, the commuters who want to look important reading the Financial Times and the people who need to be told what their opinion on something they don't comprehend is whom buy the Mail. The Sun has no illusion as to who and what its readers are and understand their audience in a way no other paper does: Keep it simple, keep it light, plenty of football. You have to respect that. I hate the Sun.

I used to read my Dad's copy as a kid, now it just makes me feel old. I remember when Page 3 models were older than me, now I am seven years older than most of them. Hagar the Horrible really hasn't been funny in years and I miss the cartoon with the two kids (what was it called?), and that's the only page I regularly check out. I noticed that Dear Deirdre was about as real as pro-wrestling when I was a teenager, every letter is exactly the same but with a different subject - almost as formulaic in structure as your average Hollywood blockbuster - and every subject happens to tie into today's phone hotline at only 45p per minute.

Still, with 30 minutes of lunch break left and no food I was left with reading the sports section or the Horoscope section. I've never been one to hold much stead in horoscopes, I fail to see how dividing 8.25% of the population into categories and predicting their experiences every day can be accurate, but it does intrigue me how these people can write 4,380 different columns every year without repetition. That's a skill.

It's a good job I've never held much confidence in them, because when I read the entry "Today, You Die", I might have been a lot more shocked if I took it seriously.

I thought someone was having a wind-up, or that the horoscope writer at The Sun had finally cracked after years of writing the same thing. But if that were the case, surely he would have written them all crazy. Leo: Today, you turn into a duck who is afraid of the colour blue. It must have been a photoshop job, but even so, they'd done a damn good job recreating the paper stock, they must have scanned in an entire page to do this.

If anyone knew who'd done this it was Trev. You know Trev, everyone knows Trev, or at least a Trev, every office or workplace has one. You know the type, the wrong side of thirty but act like they just got out of school, winding everyone up all day long, talking incessantly about their weekend conquests and their best friend; who is either the most interesting person who has EVER lived in the history of mankind or doesn't exist. The type of person who would be genuinely shocked if he found out the person he sits opposite all day long didn't actually like him.

I'm the person who sits opposite Trev.

'Um, Trevor, have you seen this horoscope today?' I enquired, I didn't want him to think he'd got to me.

'What does it say? You're Gay? he replied, laughing just loudly enough to cover up the fact no-one else was laughing. At least to himself.

'No. Read it.' I thrust the newspaper into his hands.

'Which one are you, Si?'

I hate being called Si. He knows this.

'Taurus.'

'Although you may be very serious today, you are not shying away from what you must do. Your inner resolve is strong enough to overcome your emotional insecurities and take charge of the situation. Assume whatever authority you need for the job; others will respect your sense of confidence, thereby making you even more efficient and productive.'

He tripped over the phrase "emotional insecurities", adding at least two more syllables than needed, but the sentence was definitely nothing he could have ever made up.

'Like I thought' he said: 'It basically says you're gay'

'Give me that' I said- snatching the paper from his hands- I quickly scanned the other eleven horoscopes for the paragraph he had just read. It wasn't there.

'All right Mr. Grumpy, I'm not threatening your "inner resolve"'.

I left Trev to get back to his busy work. His last real achievement in the office was bringing a Billy Bass singing fish to the office for Christmas in 2001, and looking at his feet on the desk it didn't look like he was going to beat that achievement today.

*****

I took the newspaper to Carol at her desk, she is a lovely person, even if she is a bit naive. I kissed her at the office party once but I was too embarassed to ever mention it around her again. I showed her the horoscope.

'Bloody hell, Si.' (I never minded her calling me Si).

'What?' I asked. I registered that she'd taken her time reading three words. I paused, waiting for her appraisal.

'I never have one that good' she exclaimed.

Once more, I was forced to ask 'What?'

'Assume whatever authority you need; others will respect your sense of confidence, making you more efficient and productive. Mine usually says stuff about the Moon being in Jupiter. I don't even know what that means.'

Dissapointed, I started to walk away.

'If you're Taurus, when's your birthday then?' she asked

'Today.' I muttured back.

'Oh, well Happy Birthday then?' she offered.

*****

Back in the staff room, I decided to check yesterdays newspaper. It's funny, if you leave so much as a tea-bag behind the cleaners will nab it, but they always leave the Sun behind.

Sure enough, it was in the staff-room, it looked like it had been put in the bin that morning and when I pulled it out a mixture of recyclable and waste rubbish fell on the floor. I hurried through the newspaper eager to read my horoscope for the first time in my life. Three words stared back at me.

Tomorrow, you die.

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