She smiled at me, which shouldn’t have seemed odd, but it
did. “Hello”, she said with an
overtly joyful voice. “Good morning” I responded. “Isn’t it a beautiful day” she said, “I love summer days like this, it brightens up the whole prospect of
our daily journey”. Strange I thought, she doesn’t look or act likes a
zombie, yet the weather conversation? Something’s not right here. “Yes”, said I
with a certain non-comitial response, “summer days are nice”. “I’m sorry”, I continued, “I seem to have
forgotten your name”. “Oh, silly”,
she responded, “that’s because we haven’t
meet yet. My Name is Heather, and your name is”? She inquisitively
questioned. “X, my names X”, as I quickly delved for more information, “and
what do you do here Heather? I normally would know of a new employee coming on
board in this department, especially one as lovely as yourself, why hasn’t our
paths crossed”? as the old whore in me came out. “X”? She said furloughing her brow. “Oh, Mr X” she continued with a glint of recognition of my name. “I work for the consultants group”, now
with an adversarial tone in her voice, “I
am a part of the pre-screening team assigned to the new efficiency project”.
“Oh, LEAN, I heard you would be about", I responded.
The scampering, first you hear their scampering. Light
patter that stands out from the white noise of existence and the sound of your
tears dropping onto dirt. Then you see one, it’s face peering down at you in
the hole and sniffing the air, only to disappear as quickly as it arrived. All
the while, the scampering increases. There must be hundreds of them out there,
building up their numbers, increasing their presence. Just waiting in the
background to befall you and strip your limbs bare. There is nowhere to run,
and no one to listen to your screams. Inevitability weighs heavily on you, and
you feel like just another piece of cheese. For here comes the rats.
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