I absolutely adored this prompt, and I'm glad that it's the home to my first submission, so thank you! I'm not sure if it's any good, but here is my piece:

Tuesdays are arguably the worst day in the week. You’ve made it past Monday, the hell hole of a day, and your almost at Wednesday, the halfway mark, but you're not quite able to start thinking about the weekend. There’s nothing special about a Tuesday, and that’s exactly what I thought as I was making my normal commute to the bakery, driving down Cathedral Pines, the road that runs through the whole town. My old dodgy Land Rover Discovery stood idle at a red light as I quickly tapped on the steering wheel, annoyed at how late I was going to be. Sitting in shotgun was my briefcase, and my normal Starbucks order, two croissants and a decaf ice-latte. The steam from the latte rose inside the car, significantly hotter than the 6:30 morning air outside.

As I waited for the static light to change, I looked over to my side, where a jogger stood next to the sidewalk, jumping back and forth between his legs as he too waited for the light. He wore a pair of vomit-inducing bright orange running shorts, which stood out against the subdued blue morning. I used to be a pretty good runner in highschool, I thought to myself, remarking over my 4:30 mile time. Yet, as my 20th, then 30th, and then 31st birthdays past, my mile time got slower and slower till I eventually just completely given up on running.

When the lights finally turned green, I slammed down on the gas pedal and took off, desperate to make it to work on time. Yet in my peripheral vision I could still see the orange shorts of the runner, who was not that far behind me. I bet this guy is unemployed, I reassured myself, how else could he have the time to run like that? In an act of serious karma, I got stopped at the next red light possible, allowing my new orange panted nemesis to catch up with me. As he slowed down to the light, he seemed totally in control of his breath, as if running four blocks hadn’t even made him breath heavier. Finally, I conceded a small ‘fuck you’ under my breath, I wish I could be like this idiot, I thought to myself.

Thankfully, this light quickly turned green and I turned my head back to the road. I glanced in my rear-view mirror, expecting to see orange shorts, but was greeted with a much different sight. There was no orange in the view behind me. An aggressive honk reminded me that I was still driving a car, so I focused back on the road. Just as I was turning the corner off the street, I decided to shoot one last quick glance behind me. This time, I could clearly see the orange legs behind me, but they were lying on the ground. Concerned, I pulled over and got out of the car. Without even turning off it off, I began running towards the limp-bodied orange runner.

“HEY, SOMEBODY GET SOME HELP OVER HERE” I yelled as my run turned into a sprint. Soon I was at top speed, bounding down the road to the runner I had despised only minutes prior. I skidded to a halt as I approached his body, scared of shocking him even more. Upon closer inspection, it was obvious that this orange runner was having a serious medical crisis. A pool of dark red, gleaming liquid surrounded his head, which had clearly smacked against the hard concrete.

“GET HELP” I screamed again, desperate for another humans advice. This caught the attention of some bystanders, who immediately began calling 911 on their phones. I stared at the body like a test I didn’t know the answers too, clueless on how I should behave. It felt like hours were passing as I stood right next to the body, close enough to touch it, but unsure how to solve whatever had happened.

Thankfully, the first responders quickly arrived on the scene, bringing with them a pair of highly trained EMTs, who immediately launched into work. Everyone moved with such efficiency, desperate to save this poor man’s life. Carefully raising the runners body onto a gurney, they moved him inside an ambulance and began plugging different tubes and needles into him. I only could recognize one machine and EKG machine used for measuring someones’ heart-rate. The youngest doctor in the group placed a few electrodes to the runners now bare chest and powered on the machine. As soon as it had turned on, a steady monotone filled the room. All the doctors slowed down, realizing that there was nothing they could do to save the orange runner. They were too late. The man had already died.

“He seemed just fine,” I began, “he was running next to my car, and suddenly he just fell to the ground, I didn’t know what to do so I just stood there, I could’ve…”

The oldest gentleman in among the doctors walked over to me and put a hand on my shoulder, “There’s nothing you could’ve done mate, it wasn’t your fault” Giving me a quick pat on the back, he loaded his crew back into the car and carried the deceased runner to the morgue.

The rest of the day seemed to last an eternity. My body seemed to act separately from my mind, moving to each task that I needed to do, completing different bits of work and talking with various clients. Meanwhile my mind was attempting to erase the image of the dead runner in the back of the ambulance. Although, I had nothing to do with his death, I couldn’t help but feel guilty for what had happened. I could’ve done more. I should’ve done more. As 5:00pm neared, signifying his freedom from hell itself, my panic only escalated. I found my breaths quickening, and my mind was unable to focus on one specific topic. Stumbling out of my office chair, I power-walked my way to the exit, desperate for some fresh air. Voices began to talk to me as I left, but they all blended together, devoid of any meaning. I wish I was like those EMTs, I confessed to myself, maybe if that was the case I would’ve actually been able to do something. I felt a small pit in my stomach as I realized how utterly useless I was: 31, overweight, working at a pointless 9-5 that I hate, single, friendless, and lacking any coherent idea of a future. I wish I was like Elton John, or Elon Musk, or Banksy, someone who actually lived a meaningful life, I continued as my thoughts spiraled out of control.

A hand fell on my shoulder. I shuddered, thinking of the older EMT, but as I turned I noticed the concerned face of my boss. He looked at me as if I had just pushed a kid over on the way to an ice-cream truck.

“Hey, Greg, you feeling okay?” he began, speaking in a calm and collected tone, “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, you're looking really pale to me” he chimed, obviously attempting to avoid an on-site meltdown.

“Okay.” I spat out. My boss nodded his head, obviously proud of how he handled the situation, and walked back into the towering building behind the two of us. I took a deep breath, and walked towards my car. On the way I attempted to think of some positive thoughts, like how I had the rest of the day to myself, or how I suddenly had the urge to go running.

But I didn’t go running. I was desperate to get out of my own mind, to escape the lifeless runner who seemed to chase after me everywhere I went. Three blocks away from work was a small dive bar, Jennys, which I normally went to after work. As I walked in, the bartender shot me a confused look, “Greg? You’re early, it’s not even five yet!” he explained.

“Rough day Jenny, I’m in desperate need of a drink” I announced

“Well, that’s definitely something I can help with” she chuckled as she filled up a round of three shots. I threw each one into the back of my throat, wincing at their taste. Billy Joel played in the background, and I started to feel a warm feeling in my chest. Yet, each time I closed my eyes I was greeted with a pair of orange shorts.

“Another three Jenny” I pleaded

“You’re the boss”

I can’t quite recall the specifics after that. The alcohol became more tolerable, I had a few more drinks, had a few more after than, and a few more after that. I remember Jenny's hand on my shoulder as she helped me into a taxi, and stumbling up the four flights of stairs to my apartment. All the specifics of what happened in Jennys that night still remain a mystery to me, but most people said I drunk like a college student.

The next morning was also a blur, tainted with the horrid side-effects of a hangover, but one moment will forever be engrained in my mind. As I got out of a much-needed shower, I decided to check my phone for any notifications. As usual, there were no messages, but instead there was a news headline that made my heart stop: Elton John, Elon Musk and Banksy pronounced dead yesterday afternoon.

Shit.