Zenith Solutions

Short Fiction

Bob Forrester trudged through Central Park, a stubborn gray sky that refused to rain despite September’s promises. The air was thick, like someone forgot to open a window, and the damp breeze smelled faintly of old leaves and forgotten memories.

He spotted the bench Andy had mentioned. It was exactly as promised—empty and unimpressive. Forrester sat down, feeling the letter weigh down his jacket pocket. The paper was stiff and crinkled, a relic he’d shoved away for years. A pigeon strutted near the fountain, giving him a sideways glance that felt oddly judgmental.

Just as he was about to leave, his phone vibrated. The screen lit up with the name Zenith Solutions.

“Forrester here,” he said, trying to ignore the background noise of children laughing and dogs barking.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Forrester! It’s Andy. Hi! Hope you’re well.” Andy’s voice was unnervingly cheerful, like a robot programmed for friendliness. “I see you made it to the fountain. Does it bring back memories?”

“Not really.”

“Not really? Oh well. Did you bring the letter?”

Forrester rolled his eyes. “Yes, I brought the letter. Can we get on with this?”

Andy’s voice shifted, becoming more formal and detached. “Before we dive in, could you spare a few minutes for a customer satisfaction survey? It won’t take long.”

Forrester glanced around, half-expecting a hidden camera to pop out. ‘You’re kidding, right?’”

“Not at all,” Andy replied smoothly. “Your feedback is important to Zenith Solutions. Let’s start with: How would you rate your overall experience with us on a scale of one to ten?”

“I don’t even know what and who you are,” Forrester snapped, feeling his fingers dig into his pockets for some grounding.

Andy sighed, sounding like someone who dealt with complaints all day. “A common issue. Let’s try this—since our first conversation— you remember — have you felt more enlightened about your choices?”

Forrester stared at the fountain, where the water splashed without purpose. “You’ve not given me a choice, have you?! You’ve threatened my life!”

“Alright, moving on,” Andy continued, his voice now resembling a tired manager. “Uh, oh yes — next question: On a scale of one to ten, how satisfied are you with our level of engagement?”

“This is ridiculous,” Forrester muttered. “I’m not going through with this; you can’t make me go through with this!”

“And I assure you, Mr. Forrester, you will go through with this, one way or the other,” Andy said, his tone rougher now. “Let’s not forget one thing: you were selected. So, if you don’t mind, let’s continue. On a scale of one to ten, Mr. Forrester, how likely are you to recommend Zenith Solutions to a friend?”

Forrester muttered something under his breath; his nerves needed a drink in the worst way.

“Mr. Forrester? Still there?”

“Yes, I’m here!” Forrester snapped while the pigeon edged closer to his feet, pecking at something on the ground. A long pause followed, filled only by the distant honking of cars and the occasional bark from a nearby dog. Then Andy spoke softly, “Mr. Forrester, “Zenith Solutions offers closure. Not the kind you think, but the kind you need.”

Forrester felt a chill. He looked down at the letter, its weight suddenly unbearable.

“Your deepest regrets—your unfinished conversations, your unresolved heartbreak—they have shaped every decision these many years. You’ve tried to move forward, but they keep pulling you back.”

Forrester took a deep breath, feeling the letter’s edges press into his palms.

“One last question for the survey,” Andy said quietly. “On a scale of one to ten, how satisfied are you with your choices regarding matters of the heart?”

Forrester looked into the fountain, watching the ripples distort his reflection. “Zero. If you must know, I left her … here,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I left her here at this fountain. Ended everything. Walked away and never came back.”

“Maybe it’s time you did,” Andy suggested gently. “That’s why you kept the letter, Mr. Forrester. You knew this moment would come, even if you didn’t understand why.”

Forrester’s fingers ran scattershot like a frantic spider across the letter. “Why are you doing this? Why does it matter?”

“Because we offer second chances to people like you—those brave enough to face what they left behind.” Andy paused, then added, “Now, open the letter and read the last line.”

“I already know what it says!”

“Read it! Aloud.”

Forrester’s fingers fumbled as he unfolded the letter, the paper making a soft rustling sound. He took a shaky breath and read aloud, “I still love you, Bob. Don’t let this be the end.”

“Now tell me, Mr. Forrester, are you ready to begin again?”

Forrester pulled the phone away and wept; his long-held defenses were gone.

“Mr. Forrester, are you ready to begin again?” Andy implored.

“If I say yes? What happens?” he asked, his voice breaking.

Andy’s voice softened, almost warm. “Then you open the door and step back into the life you left behind. But this time, you don’t walk away.”

Forrester looked around the park, taking in the faded grays and browns of early autumn. An almost familiar voice threaded through the distant hum of the city, barely reaching him. His chest tightened under the weight of the years, the mistakes, the long silences. Then, another pigeon fluttered down beside the first. They stood together at his feet, their tiny heads tilted, their eyes fixed on him. He felt something lift for a moment, a strange, unexpected lightness.

© Michael Arturo, 2024

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Welcome to Michael’s Newsletter. Writer of contemporary political/social commentary, parodies, parables, satire. Michael was born and raised in New York City and has a background in theater and film. His plays have been staged in New York, London, Boston, and Los Angeles.

Michael also writes short literary fiction. Below is a link to his first collection.

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