The Machine

         I wake with anxiety in my chest amongst the blackness. Time to start work again, I suppose, I think to myself, hurriedly opening my computer to the blaring glow of the screen. I don’t need to type anything today, and don’t have any time to, anyways. The algorithm has my back, like it always has, and the computer takes me straight to where I need to be. I try to shake the claustrophobia for the day and focus on getting away from my confinement, sucked into my work, but nothing ever seems to shake the subconscious feeling; you know, the one where you just feel like something’s wrong. But you can’t ever quite seem to do anything with it, really, apart from holding it back or succumbing to the pressure, and becoming a new meal for the machine like so many others. While the dawn has still yet to break, I figure I best make good use of my time, since I can escape to sleep quicker if I do so while there are no distractions. I’m one of the first ones up this time around; a bit uncommon, but gleefully so.
         Little light around me, I take advantage of the so-earned ignorance of my surroundings and open my work tabs quietly, then plug myself into the electrical port on the side of the computer. I am whisked into a world of dull pain and aches, mentally, physically, and emotionally, as my body consumes itself for the sake of the beast, and as I believe it, for the sake of me. It is what keeps me alive, away from the darkest chambers of this animal. As despicable as we may be, there is no choice but to contribute with blood and time, else we are useless, and our lives end abruptly. Misery, they’ve all said, is better than nothing.
         As I wake from the living nightmare, one begins anew; a sight I never tire from, which shocks me just the same as the first time I can remember it. The lights shoot on suddenly, illuminating through the translucent, grotesque, fleshy walls the faces and bodies and dwellings of the others, each person painted with the signs of anxiety and fear. Surrounded by the dozens, as far as I am capable of seeing, the morning leg stretches, muffled yawns, silent sobs all reach out, searching for a relief as desperately as possible. The chambers of the machine are alive yet again, slowly ridding us of our humanity and stripping away at our lives and vessels, as intricately and inescapably as can be, as if each of us is trapped permanently in a psychological horror film - the filthiest, most disgustingly astonishing film anyone could imagine, but simply magnified.
         Indescribable terrors ensued while the lights were on, and this is why waking early was a blessing. If the day could be slept through, perhaps the night, if you had the ability to handle the silence alone in your mind, could provide some comfort, but most simply went insane in their own way at some point or another in their troubled heads. Thereupon the day, the beast moved, its footsteps loud and disturbing to the ears, each of its cell-like chambers sliding and sloshing against each other. I quiver, for although I know exactly what will happen with each day to come, the insurmountable fear caves at my innards more and more with time regardless. I cry and cover my face, trying to mask the sounds of my sobbing, and I press my thumbs into my ears, hoping not to hear another second of the murderous growl of the beast and the painful cries of its occupants. Through my auditory shield, I hear the sound of flesh and bone grinding, snapping, as if it is right next to me, maybe even inside of me, and I hurriedly uncover my eyes to see the disturbance as the stress brings me to a tipping point. Directly in front of me, protruding from the stomach of the beast, is a gaping maw, around which ravenous tentacles protrude. Towards me they reach, and I break down beyond the point of speech, tears rolling from my eyes in a stream, heart pounding as if it were to explode in my chest.
         As I accept my fate in this dark life, a moment of clarity pervades my mind, and as I am pulled into the organs of the machine, I come to a realization. In time, the beast will die, and though perhaps never forgotten, its atrocious acts will be in vain; the lives it destroyed for nothing but its disgusting overindulgence. This matters not to it, for its greed is what drives it blindly onward, until, one day, it is unsustainable, and collapses. All of these poorly lost souls shall inevitably be forgotten, but never will their suffering be, including but not ending with me.