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excerpt- opus dei

excerpt from a draft/ story i wrote a little while ago. those of you who know me know where the inspiration came from.

Monday

It’s ten after nine and I don’t even remember what it was like to have a weekend. To have two days off without the juvenile racket of this place and without the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, knowing that I am only moments away from the next disaster, the next excuse for those above me to explain in as much detail as their feeble minds and limited vocabularies can offer how I have come close to bringing about the apocalypse and how the world has been saved only by their own ingenuity. They are great and I am small. I should feel grateful to them for the fact that they pay me. I owe them. I owe them everything. Ha. The only thing that gets me through these days is the thought that some day, someone is going to turn these people inside out and let them see the rot within themselves.

It’s there in my inbox, of course, because no one has the guts to say anything to your face. They type their criticisms in big letters, in bright colours, so the words can be seen from across the room and so you know they’re really serious. “Stupid”. “Inexcusable”. “How could you have let this happen?” “Catastrophic.” They’re particularly fond of “stupid”, but they never quite use it to describe a person. It’s always what you do that’s stupid. What you say, What you think. It’s never you because to say that you were stupid would mean that you were something. And you are nothing here.

I feel that surge of bile in my throat reading these things about myself because I don’t want to care. But I’ve been here too long to have anything else to care about. It starts with one message, copied to a large number of people, people who are hardly involved in this issue at all. Because what good does humiliating someone do if it isn’t done in front of a crowd. They might be able to shake off the shame if there are only a few people who getting to see them tarred and feathered. There are more messages, they go in sequence, one voice, different screaming fonts. What I’ve done is a crime. What I’ve done is unimaginable. It takes on a life of its own and the life it takes is mine. I try not to care. I fail.

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