Day At The Office

… 

God, I love it here. God, isn’t it beautiful! The possibilities are as endless as they tell me! What a blessing is my cubicle. I feel so alive in here, in my carbon-copy work space, with its soft grey palette. I don’t have to speak with anyone. I’m practically alone on this floor, due to the small nature of the finance bubble….Oh, the stroke of luck when they placed me gently in Row 5, Cubicle 6 of Floor 13. Some would call my job ‘boring’, but I believe ‘boring’ is a remedial mindset. Here, I touch and think and feel like any other, except there is no external stimuli to stand in my way. My hands and mind answer to none except pixel and number, at my discretion. Just another day at the office. I wipe the sweat from my brow. I just can’t get enough.

And Bless the rarity of days like today! Not a soul in sight, simply stainless steel, brick, and glass (though I suppose all materials have a soulful sort of internal energy). The four floor fellows must be coddling at home with the virus...it’s a shame. I’m terrified to get it, but how could I leave my cubicle lonely? If I don’t have a good excuse, my cubicle may realize its blandness without me, might act up and sprout distracting colors or textures while I’m gone. Anyhow, the virus won’t get me, I’m fit as a fiddle and talk to no one. They say you only get it in crowded places, and everywhere is empty.  They say the flu-like symptoms aren’t only physical, they are psychoactive. Some people who contract it may heal physically, but mentally they may never recover…

I love days like today. So calm, like a storm under the sea. I’m touched by the silence. It tickles the hair on my upper lip. Usually I tune into the soft murmurs and mechanical whirring, the meager office pulse, but today I hear nothing of the sort. On this blessed day, I am the only machine left to hum and purr. My computer won’t turn on. I think it's ignoring me, I can hear it softly whistling. In stillness I have sat since arriving on time...a couple minutes ago? An hour? I can’t stop humming. I feel the silence sliding between the cubicles. A slight breeze tickles my face...wind? I poke my head above the cube shelter, scanning the windows and elevator door. No one here, must be a draft, must be gone now. Maybe I need some fresh air at lunch, and a sweater, and maybe I’ll call my mother. God, when did it get so chilly! Oh, must be the breeze picking up. My notes are shifting on my desk, my hair is shuffling around my neck. I shake the sweat from my head, and notice a sound growing in the back of my mind. It is a dull roar, gaining speed, whipping up the stairwell, tearing around the corners. It’s getting closer and the sound is deafening. I reach for the On button for the tenth time, and the first gust hits me like a bitter slap. My wheeling chair spins into the wall and I’m thrown to the ground. My eyes are stinging, Floor 13 is a teary blur, and the wind is bellowing in my ear. Oh Blessed Day! Is this God? Where is everybody?

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