500 Words Give or Take...

The cubicle is a scant eight feet by eight feet. Sitting slightly hunched over, torso resting on the elbows is the most comfortable way to type. Staring forever into pixilated visions of the ether in which work is being done. Schlick schlick schlick go the keys. I am alone here.

The office bustles with the tortuously mundane. Papers are shuffled from one to another. Meetings and gatherings occur simply to burn the souls from their inhabitants. Rayon and Polyester pantsuits engorged with pasty skinned, jiggly middle aged, Harpies stroll quickly around the cubicle mazes. Balding, Muffin top bellied zombies sporting the least fashionable shirts available in the Marshall's sale bins  parrot over and over the same run-down jokes heard on Leno the night before. The blinking colon of the digital clock on the phone slows perceptibly as another wave of regularity rolls over the cubicle wall.

In a far off corner a hollow phone call is taking place.
"Use the shift key too.... No the other one."
"Did it let you in?"
"At some point you'll need to ship that back to us, when you can be without it for a day..."

The sedate click-click, click-click, of a photocopier marks time with the blinking colon.

The box fills with the schlick schlick of the keyboard. Add column one to row C. Affix the predetermined Flow chart to the In-store Metric plan. Print it out in Portrait and distribute it with the pie charts at the next all-hands.

Near the elevator shafts a splash of violent red stains the walls, floors, and ceiling.  It was there I gave my Muse to them. The Harpies and Muffintops pass by without noticing. Globs of red mess drip down from the ceiling onto their heads and shoulders as they pass by.

My hammer had smashed into the gossamer wings so easily. Each thud and splatter of the hammer hitting home was drowned out by the circle of jeering, screaming Muffintops and Harpies. Having long since devoured their own, they waited in orgasmic bliss to taste once more the fruit of her body. Lust filled, they devoured every bit of the corpse. Shrieking and moaning they fought amongst themselves as the last scraps slid down the thick gullets of the strongest of them. The largest, thickest Muffintop, a piece of her wing still stuck in the spittle at the corner of his mouth croaked, "You'll go far here boy..." as the mob dissipated.

Add column one to row C. No use thinking about the past now. She powers the guttural, mucus filled laughs of the Muffintops as they strive to be the loudest reacting to the retelling of same joke for the fifth time. Affix the predetermined Flow chart to the In-store Metric plan. Her silken limbs are digesting in the bowels of the Harpies as they once more make a round of the cubicle mazes, walking at top speed to nowhere in particular.

At least I don't dream anymore. Now there is nothing to get in the way. Nothing to show the light. Add column one to row C...