A Day at the Orifice - Tranche Three

Isis steals slowly away from the cacophony which like an unruly rash is breaking out all around him. Another Post Traumatic Software release has done it's usual belly-up, and like a collection of tortured rabbits the work-force is attempting to correct matters by running around very fast and screaming techno clap trap at each other. Lindy Hom had perfected spinning around in a tight circle very fast, the suction of her personal vortex causes all the paper-work in her office to swirl around her and she quickly grabs at each wastrel document confident that she has the matter in hand.

Isis recalls the immortal words of the CEO Crinky Bollocks "we have assembled the finest experienced set of technical staff into our organization" he would continually say this - to the board members who had more money than sense, to the sales team - who for three quarters running had managed to sell nothing to nobody - and to potential customers who wandered into the office looking for a place to desparately urinate. Crinky thought, it was so sexy that they couldn't feel the exquisite "hand-in-their-pocket' as he executed the "lemon squeezer" on their testicles, ah but life was grand and he was driving a BMW series 8 with GSP.

Having escaped the madness, Isis lurches hesitantly towards his chair grabbing it with an overwhelming sense of relief. The familiarity of his own chaotic desktop fills him with the sense of something real. Isis presses his PC into life; its hard-drive starts to hum spinning around at some ridiculous speed while heisenberg's uncertainty principal prevents his screen from becoming a giant penis as he observes it!

The air around his desk starts to feel electric, a quantum probability wave collapses behind his head, and a strange feeling of deja-vu overwhelms his mind. Is this really happening or is he being manipulated, after all he really doesn't want to be here with these strange creatures from the office lagoon.

But Isis, like millions of his fellow human beings, has no friggin' choice, the system has deadly constraints that cannot be violated, and if they are then you are expunged from the warm moist hive and tossed onto the streets with contempt, credit-less without a breast to suckle, and only a cardboard suit to wear and a glue-bag to sniff. Whilst around you the office drones rush by with fear and loathing in their narrow corporate controlled minds. Dead fleshy minds, limping with bad attitudes, platoon-like and flowing through sewer filled subways chanting, "We are free to choose what you give us, and we are free to believe what you tell us!!!"

Isis is under-whelmed by a feeling that deep down, buried in the cerebral cortex of an ancient mind, lies the truth, subdued in anger and love it provides a clue to his real heritage it is here in this hidden mental singularity that he and his fellow travelers appear to be connected. We have been robbed of our inheritance and robbed of our dreams Isis ponders.

However, this situation is complicated while the system's configuration envelopes us like a steel straight Jacket. We have spun our political and emotional alliances into worn-out clothes. Are genetic dreams have evolved into a series of interlocked mental prisons that broadcast emotional bondage, blackmail and sexual terror into our hearts.

Isis's body shuddered involuntarily.

He suddenly begins to see that he is working for an anonymous set of people who are getting disgustingly rich directly from his efforts and in return he is allowed to live in mounting debt and despair watching the majority of his life pass him by, whilst he desperately takes every opportunity to escape from the deadly industrial-military embrace, that he feels leaching into his blood, his feces and his fears.

Isis could see that it was his labour that provides the 'value' for the benefit of the face-less pugilistic zombies of industry.

"They live beyond the pale of your miserable existence in their tax heavens, in masturbatory holiday resorts with silicon filled dead breasts draped over their dysfunctional reproductive organs" A voice screamed.

Isis could not quite make out that the voice was in his head until he tilted his left ear so that it was facing the floor and the finger of his right hand had been firmly inserted into his left ear.

He farted involuntarily and crossed his eyes and then experienced a loud pop as if someone had pulled out a plug.




Short story by Firehawk
Read 666 times
Written on 2005-10-15 at 03:37

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