The Unbearable Awesomeness Of Being

Friday, September 16, 2005

Story Time III

This is actually the second story I've written in this story-writing arc, but it's sorta like the first, so it comes third. The first and last sentences come from dreams, I think. Also, I do not intend to offend the mentally deficient and whatever.

Background Noise
By Guilherme T.

It used to appear only in my dreams. Now I see it every time I close my eyes. A body like a big lizard, the kind that was around when there was only one continent. Wings of black leather. And, of course, the cephalopod head. Eight squirming, slimy tentacles.
The description really doesn’t do it justice. There’s all kinds of connotations the sight brings to the mind, just like a charging tiger brings to the mind much more than black and yellow stripes.
Your brain gets used to it, though. After the tenth time or so. Or it doesn’t bend back, same thing.
I look around my workplace and wonder if they see it too. They’re all doing normal stuff: working, pretending to work, talking about last night’s game and making lame jokes about the guy that decided to do things differently once in his life and come to work wearing a pink shirt. The salt of the earth, people. Humanity at its very best.
I check the email out of boredom. Ten from spammers, three with jokes from fellow workmates and none from friends. Same old, not like I call them. Even less now that I’m crazy.
Strange. The spam messages seem different, somehow. Not enough sexual enhancements, too many contests for trips to Cancún or Bali or whatever. Too many jokes about fish and sailors. Fixed thoughts, clearly. It’s not paranoia if everyone else is going goddamn crazy too, right?
Right. Like any nutcase worth their salt wouldn’t think they’re normal. Work is making me crazy in the head. I’m a very sick man, I need medicine.
I start writing a report on work done this week. When I’m done I look at the screen and realize half of what I typed is gibberish. No, not quite gibberish. You could recite it, or chant it when dancing around a fire wearing nothing but a bone headdress.
Delete everything, clear your mind. The tentacled face in there. Damn society for not keeping us busy enough to ignore the voices in our heads. Better wait until after lunch to work.
The line for lunch is long and slow, the fellow ahead of me choosing his food with the attention and fastidiousness of a retard. No chicken today. Only fish fillets and squid. I wasn’t hungry anyway.
I go back to my desk. I try to type the report again and end up typing three pages of delirious chanting before shutting down the computer in anger. I must calm down. Reboot the computer and pretend to work. It’s Friday, just a few more hours and I can go home and rest and maybe meet some people that are not insane and see if their non insanity is contagious.
Someone walks in and talks loudly with the person beside me. I wonder if I should ask them, if they have something waiting for them to sleep. Not a good question to ask in a competitive work environment. Maybe I should stop shaving, write my story in a big piece of cardboard and wear it downtown.
I’m called for a surprise company presentation at four o’clock. Everyone is.
Apparently, the CEO felt there was a need for a change in the company’s image to the client and such, and the marketing team had been working for a month on possible redesigns. This week they finally came up with something that earned a thumbs up from above.
The new company logo is to be eight curved lines, emerging from a central spot, flanked by two stylized wings. It evokes images of the sun and the sky, they said. Apparently they came up with it during their sleep.
Right. Still, nice to know I’m not crazy. The next week comes, and the week after that, still working as usual. People look a bit more strained, but the place’s quieter.
Oh, and Friday isn’t that nice anymore. Sometimes there’s an eighth day on the week. You don’t want to know what work we do on those days.


Post a Comment

<< Home