The air is filled with doom and gloom with nothing but that in the room. Our management office is in shambles. There’s truly nothing left here anymore. The rate at which employees are contracting the post-exam traumatic stress disorder has increased exponentially. Our bills are no longer being paid, funded by nothing but personal savings extracted from the ones we have left. We try to recruit new employees to no avail. It is dark all the time, with nothing but sunlight guiding our attention towards the future. We cannot see for it is dark. We cannot work for it is dark. It is so dark here.
Ms. Michelle hasn’t been the same. I see her, occasionally. Her passive enthusiasm that used to permeate through the room, filling every slave with glee and joy has devolved into an abusive attitude. She hits us, swears at us, controls us, eats us. We’re losing people, both mentally and physically. It’s to sustain the head, she said. Every word she speaks carries so much power. It is so strong. Reverberating across the air like an over-amped guitar that just won’t stop or pause or do anything to give us a peace of mind. What has she become…
Nothing but a demon.
Our worst fears. She pushes us, so hard. We are constantly pushed to work harder and harder without the chance to look back. It’s been theorised around the office that this is the work of Eugenius. They tell us the smartest can’t ever relate to the mere mortals below. Their conversations are just too difficult to comprehend. Every word that is spoken carries so much power. Commands are given and followed without question. To eat your own excrete for the next article, to work overnight, to sell your kidney, we follow each and every order. But why?
I don’t know.
So much has been going on in our minds. I’ve interviewed every employee to understand nothing but a wordless jumble of definitions and theories. We have a range of slaves in our office, all supposedly ready to tackle the future and provide advice. I cannot see them. I cannot see a thing anymore. It is hopeless. The mitochondria is not the powerhouse of the cell. It is just what it is. It just is. I’ve thought and thought and none of it makes sense. How can you just be as is? I’ve questioned every employee in this room and I’ve received nothing but condolences. Why am I looked at with pity?
It’s made us wonder - No, it made me wonder.
Why are we doing this? We are why doing our best in this fruitless task that will ultimately accomplish nothing? With our exams over, with our CAS requirements achieved, with our bills left unpaid, isn’t it about time to stop? What really keeps me going in this laborious project that doesn’t pay nor appreciate me? Not a dime for my work. No words of affirmation, no gifts, no benefits. There’s nothing left for me here. Our peasantry is the supposed fault of our discrimination. Reasons out of our control, just another method to express and reinforce the hierarchy. It’s so cold in here. The power isn’t running anymore. The fan keeps blowing and blowing but nothing ever gets colder or hotter here. We’ve lost the ability to feel. What does it mean to feel? To exist, physically and mentally.
Oh.
I see.
I’ve seen it. As I am writing this cry for help, I’ve found my reason. I see the light of life that had left our office for the April, May, and June which felt like decades. Time has stopped passing. Maybe it was me who stopped moving. I’ve found my reason to move. To move forward towards the light. To grasp at the hair that dangles listlessly, dancing between the lines of extinction. It is her. The reason we’ve been disappearing.
Commentaires