Boredom, by Athena-The-Real

So this is my newest work, was going to submit it to the Short Story Competition but couldn't find a 2016 one, so now it is here for you people; hope you guys enjoy a dive into my mind
Also let me know of any grammatical errors, thanks:

I sit in a cubicle office, tapping away lifelessly on the keyboard before my computer. I sigh with boredom as I check the bottom right corner of the screen for the time. It is twelve noon, so I still have five hours until the end of my shift. Nothing ever changes in this small room as I send and read emails. The ringing of phones and the chatter betwixt supervisors and their subordinates is all I can hear. We all are equal here, in Zenius Tower. I suddenly hear my filing cabinet shift forward and I quickly look to it. Nothing is there. I shake my head and go back to the typing. Soon I hear my paperwork slide across my desk and my eyes slowly gaze at it. But after I stare, I find no cause for the movement. I place my right hand on the folder and bring it close to me. Then I open it. I stare at this blank page and put it back where it was. I look at the time again, it was now one o'clock.
Over the next minute my eyes grow more lifeless as my discontent with this job increases. I yawn, then I blink a few times, like a sloth. After some minutes, a silhouette appears as a reflection on my computer's monitor from behind me. I figure it must be my supervisor, so I spin my chair to face him. I jump from my chair as I notice a completely different entity before me and all things fall silent. I gulp and examine this person with fear.
He is of an average height, wearing a business suit and his face is something that will never be forgotten. An analog clock, ticking, frozen, this is his face, not even the second hand moves while he stares into my soul. I try to scream but he only put his left hand over my mouth. He points at the computer screen and gestures for me to continue. I nod and turn back to the computer tapping the keyboard slower and more reluctantly.
My mind wanders to my life at home: It's nothing special, I live in a studio apartment with a mini fridge and a homemade computer. I begin to think of this being beside me and what he might be thinking. My thoughts also turn to my discontent with my coworkers and my boss. Maybe I wouldn't be thinking this if I were more excited here.
After about an hour of the constant glare of this clock-man, I turn my head to him. "What do you want?"
He is now holding an assault rifle. He places it on the desk in front of him as the ticking from his face only got louder. I stare at the centre of his face. The clock doesn't move. I look to his gun. He doesn't move before he gestures at me to go back to my job. I do so.
After typing more, reading more, staring more, I look at the time, it was two sixteen. This being has not moved an inch over this time and I look at him to just as he begins to put his assault rifle in the drawer of my desk. I slowly and suspiciously return to my work.
A woman walks into my cubicle and knocks softly on the wall. I spin my chair to face her. "Yes?" I ask her.
"Mr Yates, do you have the paperwork on the BC done yet for the chairmen?" She asks me in an almost uncannily perky manner. I always distrusted the red-haired secretary, Susan, I know she's hiding something. Maybe she is a thief, maybe a prostitute on the weekends. We all have secrets. We are all equal here, in Zenius Tower.
I place my hand on the paperwork to my right, sliding the folder towards me before I put my thumb under it and lift. "Here it is" I respond. I do not mention the man sitting beside me for she does not seem to notice him. I then give the papers to her and she leaves.
My life was probably good at some point, but not now. I always wake up at five and go to bed at ten. My breakfast is always fifteen minutes and my showers are always ten. The drive to work starts at five thirty and ends at seven; the drive home always begins at five fifteen in the afternoon and ends at five forty five. No one waits for me at home, it used to be like that in my teens, but no more. This is my life under Zenius.
I find myself staring at my keyboard and my hands idle, it should never be this way. So I quickly go on to reading on the internet. My job is to search for the presence of the BC and other terrorist organizations online and to delete it so they cannot recruit more people online. Since the events of August fifth, Zenius has been keeping a watchful eye on the internet for terror; that was forty years ago.
I find a site, the url is just a long string of characters with the signature .onion at the end. I look around the site, it is a BC site. The clock-faced man pokes the screen. He traces his left index finger across the grotesque photographs and zTech soldiers firing at BC's and HTOU's. I shoo his hand away and take down the site, just as I am paid to do.
This job used to be interesting, now it's only the same routine, I open my computer and go through the internet, deleting all propaganda that might sway the public's opinion about the government. I check the time, it's now two thirty. The ticking from the man beside me is growing louder and louder. I fixate my gaze to him. The clock on his face is still at 1:01, the time that he came to me. His arms are swinging like the metronome of a grandfather's clock in perfect synchronization with the constant ticking. After staring for a moment I look back to my computer and work.
At three o'clock I hear the **** of a gun and look to the man. He is holding a small pistol and he places it on his lap. His face is still toward me. I use all strength to pry my gaze from him and back to my monitor. Then I return to the taps of a keyboard and the clicks of a mouse.
My mind travels again, this time to the memory of how I got this job. It was about ten years ago; I just graduated from college and I knew I had to be employed for this job. Anyone who was not working for the government or with zTech would not be able to live in even minimally illustrious way. The interview is a psychological test, it is to make sure that we can handle the things we see on the job. I cheated that day, my cousin has the job as an interviewer and he told me about the test, I wasn't supposed to know about it; But, Zenius didn't know about me. Now I'm stuck here, maybe if I got a job in a power plant I would like my job. I regret my decision, but I made that decision and nothing I do will ever change it.
I start on the necessary paperwork that specified my reason behind taking down the site and the organization linked to it. After this I check my time again, it was three fifteen. I look down at my right hand and see the pistol. I hastily place it in my desk, not wanting to be seen with the firearm in my possession. The clock-face man is now in possession of the keyboard. He types things in a form of code that I don't recognize. I quickly snatch the keyboard from him and delete his words without looking at them with thought. I return to typing and check the time again, it is now four twenty. At this time I wonder where the time had gone.
I stare at the clock faced man for some time, his second hand suddenly moves to my right. The ticking growing louder, but in my mind rather than the old echoing of my cubicle. This ticking starts in my mind, slowly growing louder, more frequent, intolerable. The hand on the clock moves faster than it should. Hours passing in minutes and my eyes widen. "What're you doing!?" I shout at this beast.
It suddenly stops, I stare at him. We both stare at each other for a long time as the ticking suddenly returns to its normal rate. My heart is not, however. It is racing against the ticking. Sweat begins to bead and roll off of my head as I stare at the man who controls my life, this entity which haunts me with the temptation of murder. He leans forward toward me and faces the centre of the clock to make a form of eye contact with me. This lasts for an innumerable amount of time before his left hand stutters across and opens the drawer, both guns are in it. I pick up the handgun and look to him. "Y-You want me to fire?" I stutter with the very essence of anxiety in my mouth.
He nods, grabbing the barrel of the pistol firmly and putting it to his forehead. The ticking in my mind growing frequent again, the ticking in my mind growing louder again; my heart beating against my ribcage as he carefully moves my finger to the trigger with his right hand. In this moment, I panic. I squeeze and the loud thunderclap of the firearm rings my eardrums as glass shatters and the clockface man collapses against the wall. There is no blood. There is no pain in my conscience.
Another clockface man walks in through the doorway. He appears frightened. I point the handgun at him. This causes him to back up against the wall. Everything at this moment was falling to a bitter silence which irritates me more than the roar of gunfire. My mind travels to my emotion, to my boredom with life, to my discontent with this job, to my own sense of being constantly observed, I fire at this clockface man and this time blood sprays both onto me and on the wall behind him. He staggers and sprawls onto the ground. I stare at him, absorbing the image of my fallen enemy. I realize in this moment that he is my discontent, he caused my lack of excitement and my anxiety; he is my boredom. I then look up and see them, everywhere. Every being with the exception of me is an entity of boredom. I train my assault rifle to one and fire, I continue doing this until each of them are dead in my eyes and the gun falls from my hand and onto the floor with a clacking sound to accompany it. I hear footsteps approach from behind me. I turn around and see him standing there, this being which leads me to calamity now stands in front of me. He towers me! What am I to do now? He simply points at my computer and gestures for me to continue my work. I stare at him with fear, my glare growing more in the hyperquizzical as I go back into my cubicle and sit on my spinning chair. I then open the onion browser and take down one last website before I hear the footsteps of five men and I turn around. It is a group of zTech riot soldiers who trained their weapons at me. I know the punishment for opening fire and I yield. A sixth man comes from behind the rest and hits my gut with a baton and as I fall over in pain I am put in handcuffs and they drag me out of the building. I look around this pristine city one last time as they bring me closer to a black police van, I absorb every detail of the image of this world for I know it will the last time I would be able. The only two trees are set together as if they were signifying a gate of sorts which they drag me between, the floor around me is a flawlessly white stone which has been glossed over and only tainted by the blood from me, which smears over; the sky was blue and clear, the air down at the ground was fresh as well. I look to my right and see people who not only dress extravagantly; but, live in the same way as well. Many of these people have the body of an adult yet their faces are hopelessly and childishly naive to the world outside. I know already that ninety percent of these people are unaware of the existence of the terror on the westside of this district. I see one man who stands out among the crowd, I can see the lack of naivety in his face; I see the sly grin on his darkened face as he turns around and leaves.
While I make these thoughts, the riot soldiers are stuffing me into the van and a woman awaits me there, I stare into her cold eyes as she gives me a folder with pictures in it. I open them and my eyes widen with terror, my mouth falling ajar as I look upon these images of gore, my coworkers and my supervisors are all along the floor of my office building. The death and destruction they believe I had caused, I know the only ones I had killed were of demonic nature and they cannot convince me otherwise; I know I only killed Boredom, I know only I can see boredom. I know none of these humans can know the terror, the true meaning of terror! Instigated by boredom and delivered by a roar of thunder.
"Ma'am...?" I utter to the woman, my eyes facing the floor of this van.
"What, Yates?" She responds calmly and quickly.
"Do you know the time?" I ask of her, monotone in nature.
"I don't think that mat-" she starts before I cut her off.
"Do you know what time it is?" I ask.
"It's four fifty nine." She states after a long pause and the checking of her watch.
At this I feel thrown back, in surprise, at this moment I lose my pride and try to make sense of the events which had transpired. Then I let out a light hearted laugh, "You're ****ing with me" I exclaim as I put my right hand on my cheek and over my mouth.
She watches me with disgust whilst my laughter grows and sighs with disappointment before she recovers the file of photos and leaves me in the van, alone. At this point, I feel content, my shift is over, my mind is in relief, I will soon have a sense of constant change in prison and in that place is where my body will find it's end. This causes my laughter to grow higher in magnitude as I slowly lose control over myself and begun a fit of crying, and after this is when the reality of my life has come crashing down onto me. At this time I realize that this is the end of my story, I have nothing to happen, at this moment I grow silent and I lie on the floor of this van, silent.
Fin.
Boredom-29

nice one..and I do understand this kind of boredom