Trapped

Another day in hell -- otherwise known as Friday at the office. Office; that one's a joke, seeing as it's nothing more than a three wall cubicle. But for all intents and purposes it's my prison; my own personal torture chamber; my tomb.

The cold and uncaring clock slowly counts down the minutes that stretch like years through an endless cycle that culminates my life: work, eat, work, sleep -- wake up and repeat. Like some oversized gerbil in a cosmic maze, I feel like I'm taking part in some kind of sadistic experiment for someone's pleasure. It's like they're waiting for the moment when it all becomes too much and the walls start to fall on in on me; they won't have to wait long.

Fear and doubt have heightened my senses; I see everything clearly now -- oh so very clearly. The gabble of women standing at the water cooler are peddling their wears; lies, deceit and trickery -- poisoned goods for a poisoned world.

Like a vulture waiting on his next meal the guy in the cubicle across the way keeps eyeing my back; he smells my fear and exhaustion now, it tastes so sweet on his tongue as he slowly considers what he should do with my space in the car park when I'm gone.

The room clatters with the sound of a hundred mindless zombies fulfilling the wishes of their corporate master; punch-in, switch-on and tune-out the world around you. Who cares about the state of your health when accounting is four months behind? Why take a holiday when you could earn those extra hundred dollars? Liberty and your freedom are but a small price to pay to ensure the twisted machine of the economy keeps running; just keep your head down and you'll do fine.

The wolf in a suit is stalking the room now; taking in the smell of fear and profit in equal parts, savoring the taste of bitter sweat driven out through the clammy flesh of beings who will never take steps to stop him. He's so secure in the knowledge that he owns these filthy people that he feels no shame in parading his twin vices of power and wealth like a working girl shows off her goods to attract other broken people.

This place is making me sick; I can feel the darkness growing inside, swelling and shifting like some primordial ooze trying to escape it's prison and burst forth into this blacken world and join in with the chaos and mayhem. I need to get out of here; I need to grab some tainted air.

They all watch me now as I cross this field of pain and toil; unsure why one such as them would ever seek to escape from this blissful life of ignorance and never-ending work. But I'm not like them; I'm not!

I barely make it as my bowls void themselves of the taste of bile and poison that has been building up since I entered the office only a few scant hours ago. And with its passing comes the fear again; grasping at the edges of my vision and thoughts, yelling for bitter sweet release.

The pistol in my pocket feels heavy and warm; but offers words of encouragement and clarity as it feels 'right' just to hold it, to let the texture of the grip on my palm and the taste of the barrel touch my lips. All it would take is one small squeeze and I could escape this prison and be released to fly above the clouds. I grasp the gun and rest the barrel under my chin; I start to pull on the trigger of my release and offer one last small thanks to the savor that dumped the weapon in my trash can. Any moment now and I'll be free of this hell.

But what of the others? What of the countless hundreds of mindless drones that have been swallowed by the corporate machine? Do I leave them to the fate from which I now escape? Am I worth the lives of some many others? No; my life is only worth something if I stand against this evil. The wolf must die or they must journey with me to the light on after; to freedom.

I brace myself for the righteous task I am about to perform; and I step out into the darkness alone with my thoughts...

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Publisher Note: **Mental Note** Provide Mark with longer breaks and an hour lunch.

Mark Manning is a scary man. He wants your thoughts on his work as well as the meaning behind his work -- or else. So let's hear what you think. Join us in the forums and let's talk Mark off the ledge before it's too late!

For the record, I was riveted while reading this short story. When I started to see where it was heading at the end, it made me start to think about my own morals and where I want to go as the publisher, meaning... "Am I going to publish, therefore support, a suicide story??" Thankfully Mark went in a different direction, because my decision would have been to respectfully decline that story. -- Chris

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