mistressofthecubicle

[mistressofthecubicle]

The subject line made Sandy flinch; "Important Visitor Expected, Business Appropriate Attire to be worn tomorrow." and the attachment was from the dress code page of the Company Handbook. She sighed in frustration, she didn't need to read the attachment. She knew the dress code standards by heart.

Sandy wasn't a big fan of them, she was a rebel and liked to dress a bit more gothic. After all she worked in a cubicle didn't she? A box a bit bigger than a coffin but still coffin-like in the way it sealed out the noise, life and color of the world.

She felt that by having to follow the dress code to the letter, as was expected that she was somehow denying her individuality. She'd been told what to wear a few times. The head of human resources aka Mr HR, wanted her to conform, and she absolutely refused to, or rather she pushed the envelope as far as she could.

As if by prior arrangement, Mr. HR walked over to her cubicle only moments after the email had popped into her inbox. He hovered next to her chair, waiting for her to acknowledge him. He was a short, squat gentleman of about fifty who would've preferred to revert the entire working world to a time about forty years in the past.

He stared at her raven black hair and silken charcoal blouse and floor length black skirt.  Her black heels with the raven decorations on the bows of her shoes barely peeked out at him, and she saw him shudder as if she were a demon waiting to capture him and drag his soul down to hell.

Sandy laughed, her coal outlined eyes sparkling at the ridiculous reaction in the little man. "Yes?" She asked him, pretending a curiosity and interest that she didn't feel.

"Um..Sandy, did you see the email that just went out regarding the important visitor tomorrow and the need for...ahem...proper work attire." He jumbled his words together like a kid afraid to speak too loudly in the presence of a feared authority figure.

"Yes." She ground out, through her clenched white teeth that contrasted starkly with her dark burgundy lip gloss. "I saw it." Satisfied, he nodded and hurried away, assured that his message had been delivered and the meaning comprehended. But Sandy was left with questions and a sense of unease; Where was the space for her individuality? Her hair was always neat and she only put a bare minimum of makeup on. Her jewelry was always tasteful, though a bit antique in nature.

The bottom line from Mr. HR: Don't wear black to work, unless it's a power business suit. He wanted her to wear khaki, pink, or cream colored clothing.

"Girl colors!" She scoffed to herself. She wasn't five anymore, why did he insist that she dress more feminine? She wasn't dressed like a punk, and always left her leather jacket in the car. It was ridiculous, she loved black. It was her favorite color and she based most of her wardrobe on that color.

If only Mr. HR  knew how hard it was to add color to her wardrobe, it was damn expensive to buy stuff like that, and on top of it all, it was almost impossible to make the new colors of those work-acceptable hues fit with the black items that she already owned. Sometimes it worked, but most often not at all. The styling was also hard to match between such varied colors. Every time she'd purchased one of the afore-mentioned items she'd only been able to tolerate wearing them once or twice and they'd sat in the back of her closet like the bastard textiles they were, mocking her with their colors and the sense of failure she felt when trying to force her wardrobe into an Old Navy like metamorphosis.

She grumbled to herself. "I was hired to sit in a cubicle, not to parade around in fashions from the mall, like some business version of a runway model."  Besides, getting the job done was the most important thing to her, and her work ethic spoke for itself. She was one of the most dedicated employees in the entire office. However, all of her inner musings wouldn't solve the problem at hand. She would have to wear something other than her normal attire.

Mr. HR had been tacitly clear. "An Important Visitor equals DO NOT EMBARRASS THE COMPANY SANDY!"

Sandy shook her dark locks down over her eyes. Thank goodness her cube neighbors had been away from their desks. They all loved her but they did enjoy teasing her about dressing like a vampire sometimes, or that on the weekends she hung out with people who liked to play at zombie hunting and the like. She laughed good-naturedly at their ribbing but inside it made her sad;

Didn't they see how they were all acting like cardboard cut-outs of each other? She would've said something about it to a few of them, but she didn't want to argue the point. Was there no space for her to be a bit of a unique soul?

Well, there was nothing for it, she would have to run to the thrift store after work and attempt to find something work appropriate. This request came at the most inopportune time of the month. Her bills had all been paid and she had only a few dollars left 'til next payday.

"Damn it!" She swore under her breath. She finished up her day and drove to the thrift store, worrying over how she would afford a new outfit that she didn't even really want to wear, let alone own in the first place.

She parked her old Cadillac and strode into the store. Normally she adored thrift store shopping but tonight it would feel like hunting for a needle in a haystack. Painful and utterly unproductive. Sandy forced herself to veer towards the racks of colorful and flowery clothing, though approaching them made her shudder. "How can anyone wear this stuff?" she thought as she proceeded down the aisle.

And at first she really tried, she forced herself to pull out shirts that were pink, or green and floral patterned. Buttons and kitsch bows sown all over them. "Yuck!" She said as she quickly re-hung a sweater that had looked promising, a paler gray one that bordered on green, the color had been right, but there'd been a huge penguin with an orange beak and black button eyes sewn onto the front of it.

Try as she might, she found herself gravitating to the darker colored clothes and the black items were the most compelling. Her hands sought them out as if by instinct. After about twenty minutes she stared down into her cart. Everything it contained was black, or dark gray.

"Way to go!" she thought as she sighed pulling each item back out and gingerly placing them back on the rack next to her. "I don't have money for this stuff, and it's not the right thing anyway." She pushed the cart back into the cart return, and turned to leave, when she spied the item thrown haphazardly into the bottom of one of the other carts.

It was already in a bag and she pulled it out. It was a black velvet jacket with a subtle silver stitching that ran along the hem of the bottom and the sleeves. It was beautiful. She would've tried it on, but a receipt fell out of the folds of the jacket. Someone had left their purchase behind. She walked it over to the harried cashier who was trying to ring up a customer; "Um, someone forgot their stuff."

The cashier was in her thirties, the highlights in her hair made her look unwashed. She seemed completely frustrated by the fact that she had to work. "Is that so?" She asked without looking over at Sandy. "Yes, do you want to put it behind the counter in case they come back?"

"I don't care, but if I put it there it'll only get put back on the racks for sale. You'd be better off to just keep it, dear." She announced. Sandy was taken aback and was going to challenge the clerk, but the woman preempted her; "I don't have time for this! People leave their stuff behind all of the damn time. If I held on to each and every item that got left behind, I wouldn't be able to run the register."

Sandy could see that she was only irritating the lady, so she took the bag and left. When she got home she made herself a quick snack of peanut butter and jelly because that was all she really had left until payday. After which, she pulled the jacket out again and examined it by laying it out flat on her bedspread.

The black velvet was very soft, but also quite formal. With the right skirt and a white shirt she could pull off a look that was more work appropriate for the important visitor. She went to hang it up in the closet and had hooked the shoulders around the hanger when she noticed that the silver filigree pattern was also on the back of the jacket, but it had faded and was nearly imperceptible. She pulled it back out and held it up under the light.

She had to really stare in order to make out the image. In a certain light it almost resembled a skull, but the coloring was so subtle that she couldn't be sure. She took it into the bathroom to see how it was affected by the florescent lights which would be similar to the ones at work.

She stared and stared, but there was nothing there. It was as if the skull had never existed. Yet the other silver patterning was still there. "Well, that settles it. I'll wear it tomorrow." She figured out the rest of her outfit and as her day had been long, decided that going to sleep early wouldn't be the worst idea in the world.

Her dreams were uneventful and she didn't recall them five minutes after she awoke. She quickly dressed and glanced in the full length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. Though she didn't exactly match what Mr. HR would be expecting, she appeared near passable to what was the standard business casual style. Yet, she had still managed to retain a small unique flare of her own.

She drove to work wondering who the visitor was, and what that would mean for her work load. She walked into the office with as much confidence as she could muster. "You look okay and are dressed correctly for the important visitor." She repeatedly whispered to herself, hoping to avoid too much self-doubt and worry.

She sat down at her desk and commenced working. After a while she sensed that  Mr. HR was hovering nearby. "Come to check on the rebel?" She half-joked when he finally caught her eye.

He swallowed and twitched his feet nervously, though the rest of him was cool and collected; "You can't possibly realize how offensive your jacket is, I mean I don't think you intended it on purpose, at least I'm hoping that you didn't." His eyes darted back and forth between her face and her jacket. "The visitor is here and he'll be walking by any minute. I insist that you take it off this instant."

"What are you talking about? There's nothing wrong with my jacket." Sandy replied, irritated that he would think a simple velvet jacket could be offensive. She was about to chalk it up to him harassing her as a sick joke when he cleared his throat and forcefully walked up to her and tried to pull it off her. Not an easy feat considering she was still seated.

"What the hell!" She yelled, her voice louder than she'd intended. Mr. HR suddenly froze and backed away slowly, like a frightened mouse. Sandy thought at first that her audible complaint had stopped him, and was about to grant him a fiery gaze of anger when she saw a movement behind and off to the side of Mr. HR.

The important visitor stepped out from around the corner of the cubicle bay and into the area next to her cubicle. He was a tall, thin man and wore a black Armani business suit and a silk tie with gold threaded through it. His shortly cropped black hair was slicked back against his skull and his smile was wide and non-cheerful. The bony structure of his face belied the subtle glint of humor in his eyes.

"What seems to be the problem?" The visitor spoke in a soft voice that conveyed power and possibly danger. Sandy stared at him. What was it about him that seemed so familiar? Had she seen him somewhere before? Sandy wracked her brain but she couldn't place him.

Mr. HR cleared his throat, his face flushed red; uncomfortable at the fiasco developing before him. He didn't want to admit to the visitor that one of his charges refused to comply with company dress standards, but he couldn't get out of it now.

He would have to acknowledge the reason he'd been trying to take Sandy's jacket from her. "You see sir," Mr. HR confessed while looking everywhere but in the visitor's eyes, "She wore a jacket that doesn't conform to company policy, and I was going to confiscate it until the end of the work day. I didn't want your visit to be tainted by inappropriate work attire." His voice shook and he seemed to be in awe of the visitor.

Sandy wondered why the visitor seemed frightening to Mr. HR. The visitor spoke again once he understood the situation at hand; "Well, let's have a gander at this offensive item of attire. If you would be so kind as to stand up and model it for me, Miss?" As he spoke he made a small flourish with his hand, a gesture that indicated that she had the floor.

Sandy thought he was kind of funny, his word choices and actions seemed a bit outdated, or formal, like he wasn't used to conversing with lowly office grunts like her. Maybe he was a foreign dignitary or a politician?

Sandy had nothing to lose by showing off her outfit, besides she wanted to prove Mr. HR wrong and it would be such a fantastic bonus if she were able to embarrass him in front of this important personage.

She pushed her chair away from her desk and slowly stood up and allowed both Mr. HR and the important visitor to observe her outfit, she turned slowly as if she were a model on a runway.

Mr. HR pointed to the back of her jacket as it swung into view. "You see what I mean! There! The death's head! The skull! Don't you see it?" He was absolutely livid. "I told you that it wasn't appropriate!" He crowed.

The visitor remained silent for a moment, then spoke a single word; "Interesting."

"That's all you have to say? Interesting! Don't you see what is wrong here?" Mr. HR continued to rant. "Indeed," the visitor replied, and then as Sandy stared at him, she saw him morph into the Grim Reaper. His Armani suit slid slowly into the form of a thick black cloak and a scythe appeared magically in his hand. His black hair had changed into the cowl of his cloak. His face shown out of it however as if lit from within the cloak. This allowed Sandy to still see his face clearly.

Mr. HR didn't see the change, but Sandy stepped back involuntarily. Death spoke to her politely and apologetically; "Sorry for the surprise, but this one has been eluding me for years." He said indicating Mr. HR with a nod of his head. Mr. HR was still blathering away about company policy.

Death continued; "He has been determined not to see me, he won't go to funerals, he avoids everyone and everything that reminds him of death. He has been in denial of his own mortality for far too long. I didn't think I would ever find a way to take him without having to fight a terrible duel with him. Those kinds of battles are too long and drawn out for my taste these days." He smiled at Sandy. "I knew if I gave you that jacket, you would wear it and that he would see the message, and being who he is, would be too preoccupied with decorum and policy to spot the trap."

Sandy didn't have a reply to Death's explanation. She simply nodded her head in silent acknowledgement. She watched as Death put his hand on Mr. HR's shoulder to console him. "There, there. Yes, I realize it must be tough when people don't follow protocol. How about we adjourn to your office and we can discuss company policies, and you can inform me of all the grand changes you have put into place."

Mr. HR smiled contentedly, grateful to have finally found someone who was willing to see all his contributions and listen to him on matters of rules and regulations. He turned and smiled sadly at Sandy; "I'll deal with you later, as I have to see to our Important Visitor."

Sandy watched as Mr. HR and Death headed for Mr. HR's office and she wasn't too surprised when Death glanced back over his shoulder at her and stated that he and Mr. HR would be busy for about the next hour and not to disturb them until after that time had passed.

[mistressofthecubicle]

Dorothea was a pretty girl. She was petite, small nosed and had a streamlined appearance. She was perfection incarnate. She'd never once misplaced a period or a piece of mail. At least she believed it even if it wasn't so. "Everything in it's place." she'd always say, really that's what her boss said and so she'd made it her line too.

She knew quite well how to manage her affairs so when the glitch happened at work she was only mildly frustrated.

She'd done everything that she was supposed to do. Though a perfectionist she knew quite well that others were fallable and so she allowed for others mistakes. She didn't concern herself too much other than to point out the digital error.

"I have every confidence that you'll fix this." She stated sweetly on the phone to the person in charge of fixing errors.

"These things happen to everyone." He said in an offhanded manner. He had a voice that could curl toes but she tried to ignore that.

"We'll find the problem and correct it soon enough. There should be no more interruptions to your functions."

"That's good to know." She smiled over the phone. Her voice syrupy sweet and full of hope.

She wanted to believe the guy, she truly did, but for some reason his words made her ill at ease.

If these things happened all of the time, how come they'd never happened to her before?

And why now? Would it continue to happen based on the fact that she was currently stuck in the digital unattached limbo of their glitch?

She sighed and thanked the man at the digital warehouse once again for the effort he appeared to be exerting on her behalf.

"Wait two hours then try again." He said, and then got off the phone.

Dorothea hung up the phone and stared at the screen. It irked her that she would not be able to get any work done in the interim of the two hour wait. Surely there was something she could do to correct the problem herself.

But something about the man's voice repeated in her head; "Wait two hours!" Like a command. Who was he to command her? It was odd that his voice sounded familiar she thought to herself. Why would it be familiar unless there'd been other glitches?

It made her wonder, not just about the man and his voice but about everything that was happening in her life. Boy did she hate glitches.

She checked her watch, it had only been thirty minutes. She knew she should wait but she thought she might as well try her luck.

She tried the screen again. It still wasn't working, or was it a new glitch? Was the man at the digital warehouse screwing with her?

And while she pondered the question she decided to get a bite to eat. Maybe she should learn to be more trusting. After all the man at the digital warehouse had a trusting voice. Or was he just that good at his job? Maybe she would never know.

And then she asked the big question. When was the last time she'd had a solid two week vacation? She could hardly remember. Maybe the glitch was a good thing. Time to think.

But that boss of hers was always watching. At least it felt that way. She checked her watch again. An hour and a half had elapsed. She tried the screen again.

Everything was working again. "I must remember to thank the man in the other end of the line the next time I talk to him." and she felt herself secretly hoping that he would still be there the next time.

"What was his name again?" She knew it started with a J. But she would know that distinctive voice. Just then her boss popped out of nowhere and said she was lollygagging again. "You haven't met your quota today!"

And knowing that he would brook no excuses she went back to work but left an open space in her mind to think about that guy on the phone. Good thing she could muti-task.

[mistressofthecubicle]

The Grind.

definition: the workplace literally grinds you down so you won't want to do anything once work is over.

To wear down, To wear one away so that one has no desire to do much of anything else. What 99% of society has to do just to survive. Example: "I'm not the millstone. I'm the one being crushed under the daily grind. Grinds are always an illusion of security. And you perform them for your entire life until you're able to retire or until you're too sick to Grind. See also: Used up. MOC DICTIONARY

"I'm never gonna find a job!" Cassie whined.

She was on the phone during her weekly call home to her mother.

"Don't say that Cassie, you'll find something. You always do." Her mom tried to shore her up with her bright words. "Besides, you can't have applied for every job there is."

"You're right, there's all the jobs that I don't want. But I swear to God that I've interviewed so many times that I don't think that there's a job left that I haven't come across. Nor is there an interviewer that I haven't talked to. It's like their working in unison to keep me from finding a job." Cassie continued.

"It used to be different when I was young, I could count on an in person interview, now everything is over the phone or over Zoom or one of the other platforms. I can't get my foot in the door because there's no door."

There was no response from her mother. "Mom, are you still listening to me?"

"Oh, yes, sorry. I was thinking of how it was back in my day."

"When you just had to know someone?" Cassie smirked.

"Yeah, those were the days." Cassie's mom laughed.

"Don't rub it in. Well, I guess I better go. I've got some more interviews scheduled and I should put in some more applications. I swear I should be getting paid to job hunt." Cassie sighed.

"Bye, love. Talk to you next time." Then Cassie's mom hung up.

"Now back to the grind of job hunting." Cassie said as she put down her cell phone and turned her attention back to her computer.

"Now, let's see I have two more virtual interviews scheduled today and four more tomorrow, but nothing after that, so I need to put in some more applications or I'll have nothing left to do."

Cassie tried not to sigh.

This job hunt was becoming insane. It'd been two months since she'd lost her last job. Well, they'd outsourced it and she'd been given four weeks severance but that wasn't nearly enough after ten years with the company.

She was still angry with them, but it did her no good to dwell on it. She was wasting her time at the moment and not getting any closer to finding something.

Putting in the applications was tedious but she could handle that for the most part. It was the slogging through the virtual interviews that was the drudgery of her daily life.

It took so long to get the camera right, to get the platform to work, to make sure that she looked good. She felt like a professional influencer just for the amount of effort she was putting into these interviews.

So she decided to take the day off, unfortunately for her that was the day that her ship came in and she missed the boat.

Cassie ended up unemployed for the rest of her life which is a hard path to follow.

[mistressofthecubicle]

The Third Friday

Silence filled the space of the office in the waning early evening of the third Friday of the month. The flourescent lights were a pale yellow and did little to fight the growing dusk outside the windows of the office. The darker corners where the light didn't reach were breathing and seeping slowly in around him. The office was deathly quiet, and Kyle was once again the only employee there. Everyone had already taken off for the weekend and he alone remained behind as sentinel.

Ready to do battle for any and all callers, for any last minute report that might need to be sent. In short, he was bored out of his mind. But the third Friday of every month was his day to stay late and stay on call. He hated it, but it was the way it'd always worked. Besides, he had three other Fridays where he didn't have to linger behind in the tomb-like spaces.

He stood up and stretched, peeking his eyes around the walls of his cubicle in order to verify that he was indeed alone. "Yup, truly alone." It was time to break out the music and jam a bit. It was his one solace of having to remain on duty on a Friday evening.

He got out his cellphone, pulled up his favorite streaming radio station and after turning it up full blast, he pushed play. He placed his cellphone in his pocket, which muffled the music slightly, though the strains of the pop song still managed to spring forth and fill the empty spaces and gaps around him. It made him feel much less forlorn.

"Time for some dancing!" Kyle gleefully exclaimed as if he were speaking to a coworker and expecting a joke in reply. No response. He didn't really expect one, but sometimes if he were being completely honest with himself he didn't feel as if he were entirely alone in the office on his third Fridays.

Once in a while, late on his Friday he would be dancing among the cubicles and he would sense something, or someone watching him. The first time he'd sensed it, he'd quickly extinguished his music and searched high and low through the entire office for the person.

He'd found no one. Another time he'd sensed the intruder, and once more had performed a thorough search. The second occasion's search had again yielded no results and after a few more false alarms he'd decided that the entity was all in his head and that he was simply being affected by his vacant surroundings.

Today, as he spun in circles within the labryinth of the cubes feeling the exhilarating sensation of dizziness and pretended freedom he chose to ignore the presence once more. His experience informed him that no one was watching. That no one was ever there. Indeed, he closed his eyes as a concrete proof to his anxious mind that there would never be anything there.

A slight sound of thuds on carpet echoed nearby finding a voice in between the beats of his song and Kyle ceased spinning, nearly falling over as he came to an immediate halt. He hadn't planned on the full force of dizziness that swooped down over him, throwing him slightly off balance.

His eyes flew open and it took him a few additional moments of confusion before he was able to orient himself in the space around him. He was smack dab in the center of the room surrounded on all sides by the cubicles and the pathways leading down each bank of them, and for a split second he felt tiny and lost.

His disorientation quickly yielded to fear when he heard the noise repeat. It was coming from the set of cubicles that were in front of him and off to the right. The sound was nearly imperceptible at first, but his music still competed with it.

He silenced the music abruptly and strained his ears to locate the sound. He pinpointed it more accurately. At first he'd thought it was in the cubicle bank in front of him, he was now fully assured that it was actually in the ones directly behind him. He turned to check and heard another set of thuds echo from his left.

"What the?" He exclaimed. The sound was coming from more than one direction. It made no sense to his frightened soul. His heart had been racing from all the dancing, and now it beat a loud double time, a low throb in his ears. He'd assured himself so many times before that there was no one there, but now in this moment, he could sense the presence. The entity was there, somewhere among the cubicles, lurking just out of view.

He would have run screaming, but he was paralyzed by an unyielding, all-encompassing fear. He remained silent, turning in a slow arc attempting to track the sounds as they issued at varying intervals from the different cubicle bays. He was surrounded and utterly helpless.

He must've circled for at least five minutes. The sweat on his brow had chilled, and it sent shivers down his spine as the air conditioner kicked on drying his forehead. He closed his eyes in order to regroup his mind. When he opened them again a shadowed movement had joined the sound.

He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye in the cubicle bank off to his left. He turned fast to face the shadowy figure, who was now slowly creeping out of those cubicles. The figure sucked the pale light in around him which made it impossible for Kyle to decipher the edges of it's form. He couldn't see it clearly, but he could make out reddish eyes and the hint of horns on top of it's head.

The face seemed off, like it wasn't quite human, but for the life of him he couldn't identify what kind of animal it was. His breath sped up to match the rapid rhythm of his heart and he strained his eyes staring at the figure. He forced his eyes to stay open and they felt dry and scratchy, and after a losing battle they closed of their own accord. Kyle forced them open again and the figure had jumped a few feet, though it still seemed to pace forward at the same gait as it worked to navigate the cubicles.

Because it was still in the maze of partitions, Kyle didn't have a full view of the creature. But from the glimpses of it he could tell that it was not human. It wobbled in it's upright walk, like it wasn't used to being vertical. Kyle racked his brain in an attempt to jostle some kind of identification of the creature from his harrowed mind. There was nothing.

Again he blinked and the creature managed to decrease the distance between them accordingly. It was nearly out of the labyrinth of cubes now, and as it emerged into the main corridor between the desks, Kyle finally got a good look at it.

It was still murky and it's edges were indistinguishable yet he managed to reconcile the image of the creature with an illustration from an old mythology book that he'd seen once upon a time. The creature had the horns and face of a bull and parts of it's body were human. It strode on two cloven hooves. It was a minotaur, like the one from the Grecian tale, and Kyle laughed at the pure ridculousness of what he was seeing in front of him.

His laughter high and shrieky in pitch incited the beast into a red fury of rage. The minotaur lowered it's horns and charged at him, landing it's horns squarely in Kyle's chest. Kyle, taken by surprise, allowed the force of the impact to push him off balance and he fell backward onto his rear end. The minotaur disengaged momentarily and straightened up, towering over Kyle with his red eyes boring down into him. Disdain written on the creature's face.

"Oh God! No!" Kyle screamed and covered his face with his hands like a little child hiding from a terrible truth. The minotaur, oblivious to Kyle's cries of despair and terror, reached down and grabbed one of Kyle's legs and slowly dragged him into the maze of cubicles. Kyle didn't put up a fight. His fear had caused his entire body to seize up and become wholly unresponsive.

He simply watched from a place outside himself as the minotaur's lair opened up it's darkness to envelope him.

[mistressofthecubicle]

The Sick Day

The day started badly, and Carissa was angry the moment her feet hit the floor, or rather the moment she could drag her feet out from under the covers to shuffle morosely across the floor.

She'd had a fight with her boyfriend the night before and he was still asleep in the bed next to her, oblivious to how terrible she felt at the moment. She wasn't upset with him anymore, she just wished that she could stay curled up in bed next to him.

The fight was always about the same thing, how little he did around the house and how much she did. In truth, it was her place, but they'd lived together for a while and she kind of expected him to pull his own weight sometimes. Every time she hinted about it though he threatened to move out, and she asked him why he hadn't yet.

It was an endless source of contention between them. She truly adored and loved him, but he got on her nerves so easily. This time however, it had next to nothing to do with how she felt about the chores and more about how her body was giving out on her.

The weekend hadn't been nearly long enough for her tastes and she was unclear if she'd eaten something that had disagreed with her or if someone at work had given her the flu. She simply was aware that she was furious, and sick, and absolutely livid that she felt so terrible.

"So much for being nice to people today." She murmured. It was a rough start to her week. What was that fact that she had read somewhere about how people got sick more often on the weekends? Well, damnit! She wasn't sure then why it would linger this way.

She sighed as she shrugged off her pj's and crawled into her clothes. She'd pushed snooze one too many times to be able to squeeze a shower into this morning's routine.

"Next time." She lamented and finished her preparations. Maybe coffee would help. She brewed some, praying that it would lighten her mood, and fix her roiling stomach. Why did she always stress about everything; "Maybe I have finally gotten an ulcer?"

The coffee didn't help. Her mood was still terrible. She exited the house after locking the door, and turned up the stereo as loud as she could tolerate in an attempt to distract herself from her lead-lined stomach.

The drive to work was uneventful, though Carissa had to stop herself from taking every single exit that would lead her off the highway and back to her house, and her bed. If she sped she could even apologize to her boyfriend for being shitty to him the night before.

Somehow her commute ended and she found herself at her office. "Might as well go in and see how long I can last." Carissa moaned and grabbed her stuff. Everyone in her office was cheerful and it only served to sour her mood even further.

"Why!" She muttered, unhappy to be in a work environment where she had to pretend to be nice to people. Her patience would certainly not last the day, maybe not even more than a few hours.

She would keep her head down, and avoid everyone and everything. It was the only way. "I had some sick days I could use." Why hadn't she? What made her want to come to work on such a morning when she wasn't herself. Carissa sat in her miniscule cube and opened her emails. There was a monsoon of emails and she felt her anger rising.

Why was she stuck in the rat race? Wasn't there a way out? And how could she get out? Her thoughts continued to spiral into darkness and she glowered at her screen. Carissa's focus was so intent that she didn't notice the dark cloud of anger, venom and disgust slowly coalescing over her head.

Again a stupid email from that manager. What was his problem anyway? Why did he insist on being dense about the simplest things. Carissa plunged away forcefully at her keyboard, the strokes emphasizing the anger and grim disdain that she had.

The cloud built and spread like an ink spill on wet paper. Smearing across the upper portion of the office, a growing sickness. She took no notice of the effect that her sickness had as it infected the people in the cubicles closest to her.

One by one they succumbed to the venom and their visages changed to darkness and their eyes turned black and soulless. Slowly the sickness sank beneath their skin and permeated the room. It bled out into the hall and sought new victims.

Carissa continued uninterrupted in her mindless endeavor, unaware that her sickness was destroying so many. The workers in the outer offices fell sick and died of the inky black cloud of nasty temper and lost dreams, next it sought a way into the elevator shaft. It rose up floor by floor, seeping and creeping around the many offices, locating and slowly choking the life out of all the cubicle dwellers.

It was silent and deadly, and was so quick that none could escape. Carissa finished up her emails around 4:30 pm and sighed in satisfaction. "At last, I can go home." She smiled. "I most certainly will call in sick tomorrow because I can't take another day of this!" She commented. Her statement fell on deaf ears and she stood up to survey the damage.

Horrified she saw the glassy sunken coal black eyes and the ashen gray faces of everyone in the office. She started to scream, but the cloud that had hovered over her all day and had spread its' darkness had returned to take down one final victim. She shuddered and stared wide-eyed as the black ink rained down on her and encased her in hatred, scorn and the wasted days of useless sick anger.

[mistressofthecubicle]

NSFW

The email was titled NSFW from his friend Pete, “So funny! LMAO” Dan knew he shouldn’t look. He was aware of what the letters stood for but he was so curious. But the strict policy at his work was prohibitive to things that were not allowed at work. Yet, he knew his friend Pete usually sent things that were super funny. He saw the email pop into his inbox and he ignored it for a time. But it was a thorn in his mind and as he worked he could see the envelope on his screen taunting him with it's unopened state.

He forced himself to keep working. He focused his attention on anything and everything else. But he could only focus on the task at hand for so long. After lunch, he was the only one still in his office as it was Friday. Everyone else had gone home for the day. Dan was smart and he knew how to hide an electronic trail. He was certain that he could get away with opening it, but he didn’t want to open it on his work computer. So he forwarded it to his personal email and deleted it from his work email. He saw the alert come up nearly instantaneously on his phone.

Though he was alone in the office, he made sure to stand up and check that the room was empty. He went over towards the corner of the office in case anyone came in. He didn’t want to risk someone seeing the image on his phone by inadvertently walking up behind him and observing his screen.

He pulled up the email folder on his phone and the email from Pete was at the top. He clicked on it, and anticipating a good laugh he opened the attachment. He felt the excitement of the unknown, and the slight rise in adrenaline because of the risk that he was taking. It tingled up his spine and he watched as the attachment downloaded. The timer seemed to take forever, but it was truly only about five seconds 'til the attachment was ready for viewing.

Then the video was there on his phone. Playing. "WTF!" He nearly screamed out loud. He was staring at a video that looked to be of him, but from up above and behind. He whirled for a moment trying to discover the hidden camera, but saw nothing. He stared back down at his screen. The creepiest part of the video was that it was in real time. It was as if he were currently watching a video of himself at that very moment.

“Okay Pete! Very funny ha ha! How’d you do that? Where are you hiding?” He scanned the office. The only thing he saw was that in the video he could see himself looking around. He noticed that there was a very small time delay of about five seconds, or rather it showed his actions five seconds in the future. He attributed it to the fact that the video was recording and sending and that it was taking a few seconds to upload to his phone. Dan was a little irked that he’d gone through all this trouble only to have the joke end up being on him.

"Ha Ha, you did a good job. You got me. Sometime you'll have to tell me how you hacked my phone and how you ended up getting the video feed. But I’ve got to get back to work." He was about to turn off the video, when he looked down at it again. He saw a horrible sight, but before he could react, he caught up to the images on the screen. He felt the bullets rip into him from somewhere outside the window. He crumpled and fell where he stood. His blood pooling around him in dark silky red ripples. The last image on his phone came up. "Forward to contact list?" And the answer was auto-selected: Yes.

[mistressofthecubicle]

Watering

Annie was sick of it. Every week the guy in the cubicle next to her would take either a Friday or a Monday off. It wouldn’t have been such a big deal, but he was forever asking her to take care of his plants. The first time he’d asked her a few months ago, she’d insisted that it was no problem. But not now, it seemed like he was always gone and she was on plant duty every single freaking week. If it had been only one or two plants she wouldn’t have been so irritated, but the guy had thirty plants. She often wondered why the office manager turned a blind eye to the jungle that Alex had created. Surely they would start attracting insects or mold sooner or later.

Besides, Annie didn’t relish taking the half hour needed to water them. It was too god-damn time consuming, especially on a Friday at the end of the work day. But as usual, Alex had called in sick today. She’d grudgingly agreed to water them again. She felt like a slave to his plants. She sighed and clocked out from her computer. She was the last one in the office, and her things were gathered and waiting for her on her desk. She stood and stretched, shaking her head of short brown hair. A few curly locks fell around her face, framing her pixie jaw line, and her full mouth turned down in a pout. She was feeling sorry for herself and oh so put upon by that jerk of a cube neighbor who skipped work and left her to keep track of his jungle. She stomped into Alex’s cubicle, wishing she’d said no this time.

Her thin manicured hands wrapped around the light green handle of the plastic pitcher with the flower shaped end spout that Alex kept for watering. It was always three round trips to fill the small pitcher, so she shed her high heels in her cubicle once she’d collected the empty pitcher. She didn’t feel like tottering back and forth on them for the waiting plants. She was nearly done watering when she carelessly knocked over one of the smaller plants. The plant itself was nondescript, a pale green stem with delicate leaves housed within a pretty ceramic blue container. The plant lay on its’ side waiting to be rescued. Only a few pieces of dirt had spilled out onto the grey desk, like the first few stars one sees at early dusk. Suddenly, the ridiculousness of the situation hit her and Annie was angry. She was furious that Alex could have whatever he wanted in his cubicle, and that he could take so much time off. She was also irritated that she was stuck doing something so mundane for someone else. She wanted freedom from the drudgery of the corporate world and the small plant staring up at her from the pot seemed to taunt her;

“You’ll always be the lackey, never the star. You’ll always be at mid-level, never at a management position. You're too pretty, and pretty girls don’t get to move up. You get to be the eye candy, but you’ll never taste the success.” In a rage she grabbed the plant and smashed it against the desk top, sending pieces of blue shards and dirt, everywhere. But it wasn’t enough to calm her so she picked up the fragile plant and pulled the leaves off of it. Repeating the nursery rhyme of yesteryear; “He loves me, he loves me not…” Somehow the rhyme brought her back to reality.

“Shit!” She exclaimed, and she hurried to clean up the mess. “Whatever did I do that for?” She had somewhere to be, she and her friends were all going out to the club, and she was looking forward to meeting some guys. She didn’t bother to try to save the plant and figured that one less plant wouldn’t make a difference. “Maybe Alex won’t notice, or maybe he will and he’ll ask someone else to do the watering.” Annie said out loud smiling and hoping for the second option. Her only goal was to clean up the mess and get out of here without getting dirty.

She’d dressed nicely before work, in her red off the shoulder dress, and had hidden the non-work appropriate clothes with a sweater. That way she’d be able to leave the office and go directly to the club. She dealt with the pieces of the shattered pot, dirt and the dying plant by sweeping them all into the garbage. She did her best to hide all trace of the spill. A little bit of dirt, and grass stains were smudged on her hands but she could wash them off later. She surveyed her work. There was no sign that she’d killed a plant except for the hole in the wall of green that had formerly been occupied. Maybe if she moved the plants around then Alex wouldn’t notice that one was missing. She reached over to rearrange them when one of the plants reached out and bit her with its’ thorny stem. “Ouch!” She exclaimed pulling her finger back and putting the hurt digit in her mouth.

She could taste a small amount of blood and when she pulled her finger out to examine it, she saw a small red mark on it. “What the hell?” She stared back up at the plant. It was motionless. Maybe she hadn’t been careful enough, after all there were a few thorns on that one. She paused for a moment then reached out again. She gingerly touched the plant with her right hand, her gaudy ring flashing a contrasting pink to the emerald green of the plant. Nothing happened. “I’m probably just being paranoid.” She turned to leave, but one of the vines of another plant snaked out and grabbed at her ankle.

The sudden force on her ankle caused her to lose her balance and she fell to her knees. She was disoriented for a moment and thought that maybe she’d slipped. Her first concern was her dress. And she scanned it for tears or stains. Her dress seemed fine, and she flipped over onto her rear end in order to see what she’d tripped on. A thin vine had wrapped itself around her ankle and was slowly sprouting and wrapping itself upwards toward the hem of her skirt.

Even though she was wearing nylons, she could feel the snaky movement as it inched up her leg. “That settles it! Come Monday, I’m going to demand that Alex get rid of all of these monstrous plants.” She casually reached down and pulled the vine from her leg, effectively breaking it into pieces, throwing them into the garbage can. She gathered herself to stand when three more vines snaked out quicker than the first to wind themselves around her ankles. “What the hell?” Annie squeaked half in fright, half in laughter. “This is getting ridiculous.” And she once again reached down and freed herself from the vines. This time they were harder to break. She had just deposited the broken pieces into the trash when upon turning she saw a huge number of vines darting out quick as lighting and they all wound around her ankles and spread up her legs, quickly moving to subdue and capture her.

Frantic, she tried to tear them off and she could smell the fresh chlorophyll from the breaking vines, but the small green tentacles of the plants were shooting out faster than she could break them, and they were getting stronger. It seemed that every time she managed to break the stranglehold of one vine, three stronger ones would take its’ place. Indeed, so many were wrapping around her lower half that it looked as if her red dress had turned a mossy green. The variegated colors of green began to tighten around her legs to the point of pain.

She fought valiantly but the more she struggled, the more the vines tightened. She tried to scream for help but a few dark green vines forced themselves over her open mouth, blocking any sound from coming out. She quickly closed her mouth against the flavor of leafy greens, fighting her gag reflex. Overwhelmed by the attack, she lay down on the floor of Alex’s cubicle.

During her brief lack of defence, the plants finished by neatly wrapping themselves around her arms, effectively pinning them to her sides. For a few minutes, Annie lay in a half-conscious state, breathing shallowly through her nose, as her mouth was still covered by the invading vines. A new sucking sound awoke her. She didn’t know what the sound meant, until she felt a slight pressure on her feet. She struggled to look down at her feet, as her body was mostly encased with the suffocating vines. What she saw was too much for her fragile state of mind. The plants were gnawing and sucking away at her feet. “No, OH GOD NO!” She lamented. The vines constricted tighter. Her breathing grew distressed, and her weak struggling slackened as the plants sent a calming chemical through her veins.

It was funny that the last thoughts that crossed her mind were; “Eaten by office plants, such a sad way to go. But at least everyone at work would know what happened. Maybe now they'll fire Alex. He deserved that for bringing such dangerous plants to work.” Annie felt herself finally fade into oblivion. The weekend passed and the only evidence left of the vile plants’ vengeful handiwork the following Monday was a red dress, black sweater and other clothing items that were thrown haphazardly onto the floor of her cubicle. Annie's phone and purse were still on her desk. The company suspected foul play and alerted the police. A search was made but they never found a trace of Annie. And Alex who called in sick again, finally came back later that week to some extremely overwatered plants that were bulging at the stems. And he couldn’t help but exclaim; “Damn it Annie, I told you not to give them too much water!”

[mistressofthecubicle]

The Gray World

The office was the same as any other office. Cubes upon cubes with a few luxurious corner offices scattered around the edges like an afterthought. It was not the most plush or fashionable, but it was useful.

And efficient. Monotonously intoned gray walls set in an almost upright domino-effect, as if a giant could reach down and start the tiles falling, and as he would be the uncaring monster type, he would not bat an eye if puny humans were crushed by his toys.

Wendy was grateful that there were no monstrous beings lurking from above to start such a chain of destruction, though sometimes on a bad day in the gray zone (the gray zone was how she described the office interior) she would imagine something catastrophic and terrible occurring, something to distract, entertain, or just shake things up a bit.

Wendy sat day after day in that terribly boring gray world, like a rat who was continually wondering and worrying if the next time the scientist pulled her out, if then that particular time would be her last.

She couldn't remember when the change had taken place, when the colors of her life and her work clothes had been bled away. She wasn't even sure anymore if any one else had ever worn color. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that there was such a thing as color, life, and vibrancy. Yet she only knew gray, shades upon shades of gray.

Gray had become the new black. Everyone in her office wore some variation of it. And oddly enough they complimented each other on their outfits. "What a fantastic suit!" "Where did you get that amazing shirt?" But she saw the irony. Everything was gray. It was as if the cones of their eyes had all been burned away by an unseen force. A gray force that sought to sweep them away with it's subtle trickery. A deadening calm that lulled them into a semi-comatose state.

Her office had an unspoken mission statement: A good worker is a grayed out comatose worker, operating on a basic rote of movements, functions and optimum efficiency. Wendy often asked herself if that was truly all there was. Outside of the office she thought that sometimes she did see color, life and amazing activity and beauty, but she could never be sure. It seemed to her that it was only flashes and momentary images, like seeing through a wet gray window. Streaks of gray rain working to wash away the colors.

Her memories, that was one of the only places where the colors didn't run to gray, there were clear yellows, greens, vibrant blues, a whole rainbow of souvenirs. Happier times, but as the years passed in the gray world those images became less and less concrete, the gray was working to erase them. Erase them and replace them with formal, stoic gray.

The slogans worked against her as well. "For solid and dependable style, go Gray!" "Gray and loving it!" "Tickled gray!" "Seeing the world through gray colored glasses!" and so many more. Mantras that worked to unhinge her memories, like a thick gray crowbar pulling away at the foundations of her mind.

Wendy pulled out a gray compact mirror while sitting in her cubicle. She checked her eyes. They were gray like the rest of her. "Damn it! I thought at one time my eyes were blue." She swore angrily under her breath. She had to be quiet. It was not wise to be too loud. You did not denigrate the gray. "The gray is the center, the foundation of our office." She remembered that from some pseudo-motivational speech that some gray-flanneled executive had given.

Was that years ago or last week? Wendy couldn't remember. Her gray brain cells were not flashing and firing at their optimum level. Maybe she should go to the doctor? She peeked again at her face in the small mirror, hoping that if she glanced quickly enough she could find the color that was lacking. Maybe, like a wild animal she could catch sight of it for a moment. Nothing!

She closed the compact in frustration. Something was gone, something was missing, and she didn't know if she should fight to find it, or if she should just let go, and drown in the gray hole of her mind. The one that'd been growing larger, creeping in and absorbing the unique parts of her.

She was not being a very efficient worker at the moment, she should've already handled several sets of gray emails, and dark gray reports. The pile had been steadily growing on her slate gray desk. But somehow she couldn't focus, she wanted a change. She slid her silky gray fingertips through her thinning steel colored hair.

"What the heck is wrong with me?" She mouthed again. "Focus!" She needed to do her job, her life depended on it. "But why does my life depend on it?" She wondered. Wendy sighed and moved in her chair. The sudden shift in her chair caused it to spin slightly to the left. Not a full circle but a definite spin.

At that exact moment, she saw splashes of light and color all around her, like someone had dropped buckets of paint on everything. She blinked and the gray had returned. "Weird." She whispered. She tried it again, but this time on purpose.

She spun her chair one complete turn, and the rush of color made her so dizzy, she nearly fainted. And it lasted for a few moments. The world was new, and the filter removed. She laughed quietly. "There you are!" she said to the color around her as she reached out to touch her dress and her chair. In awe of the beauty surrounding her.

It faded and she spun again, and again. Every spin allowed the world to stay colorful for just a bit longer. She lost track of time and simply spun. She had to keep the color from leaving. At a certain point, her superiors recognized that Wendy in cubicle 522 had allowed her production levels to drop drastically.

They sent a gray enforcer to investigate. Alarmingly, she was found to be spinning wildly in her chair, and giggling happily. The enforcer stepped a few feet away and reported back to his superiors over the metallic gray walkie-talkie. "What!" they crackled back. "You'll have to dispose of her, it's too late now. And fix that chair. It must've broken."

The enforcer returned to Wendy's cubicle and stopped her mid-spin. "Do you see?" She laughed as she spoke to the enforcer, contentment shining through her eyes and her smile was as wide as the sky. "No. You're hereby relieved of your post." And he summarily cut her throat in his efficient gray manner. She stared wide eyed, and mouthed a silent scream as her vocal chords had been severed.

The enforcer hated this part. If only the company spent the time and money to keep the chairs from breaking. They weren't supposed to spin, and unfortunately whenever one broke, the poor employee would go insane and had to be destroyed for they would become utterly useless. They'd tried rehabilitation several times, but the employees would continue on and on about imaginary things like red and green and orange. It was always a mess. It was a thankless job, he thought, but someone had to ensure that the gray world continued un-threatened by lunatics.

He watched from behind his stone cold gray eyes as the dark gray blood spilled out over the poor victim, and he tried to force his mind away from the fact that he sometimes got the hint of something else, another color beyond gray. His soul would whisper colors like magenta, red and crimson and he would always strive to rip away those parts of his mind. That part of his brain didn't really like gray, and tried to argue with him that his favorite color was not gray.

He never let that part of him carry on too far, he was an expert at denying and destroying those sparks of insight that tried to storm the gray fortress of his mind. As soon as the gray life had flowed out of this poor soul, he called the undertakers and the repairman for the chair. And the cleaners with their gray smelling chemicals.

He watched them complete their work and let his brain focus on the phrase; "All's gray that ends gray." A comforting phrase that he oft repeated like a broken record to erase the occasional odd events that he encountered in his role as enforcer.

[mistressofthecubicle]

The Lunch Thief -

“Well, well.” Ellie’s voice was filled with longing and desire as she reached into the fridge. She was raiding the work fridge again. Every time she was on a diet she was unable to control her hunger. She’d become a bit of a petty lunch thief. She would look in the fridge to see what others had brought. And when no one was looking, she helped herself. She was sneaky about it though as she would only take parts and pieces. She would slice off a sliver of cake or take a few fries or whatever was available. She always tried to make it look as if nothing had changed, though sometimes her attempts at subterfuge were not very successful.

It was such a huge office, and most everyone didn’t care, so in the long run it was no big deal, but the whole office knew that there was a lunch thief. It had become a bit of a joke around the water cooler. But she didn't worry too much, no one suspected that it was her. Today she’d found a real treasure. Instead of the usual fare, someone had stored nearly half a cake in the fridge. From the remaining letters on it, it looked to be a birthday cake. She pulled it out and placed it on the counter. There would be plenty left over. She needn't worry that anybody would notice a missing slice. She got a plate and a fork and cut a large piece, complete with frosting. It was chocolate inside and had a red jelly filling. She carefully wrapped the remainder back up and replaced it, taking care to leave it sitting exactly as it had been previous to her swiping some of the dessert. She ate it and enjoyed every last bite.

The chocolate was decadently rich and held a slight bitter and dark undertone to its' flavor that she savored. She couldn't quite place the subtle aroma on her tongue. She had just cleaned up all trace of the ill-gotten dessert from her face, and had deposited her plate and fork in the garbage can, when her friend Bill strode into the break room. She went for a coffee cup as if that had been her intent all along.

“Hi Ellie, how's your day going?”

“It’s going fine, thanks Bill. What are you up to?" She said indicating a piece of paper and a roll of tape in his hands.

“Oh, I’m putting a warning on some food in the fridge.” He stated blankly, he seemed detached and remote, like something else was on his mind.

“Ah, someone take your lunch again?” she laughed, as if she were on his side. He snapped back to the present, and replied to her with feeling that was more serious than simple concern over whether or not his lunch was walking away; “I wish that were the case. My fridge broke last night and I had to bring something to work and keep it here. I need to take it to the lab after work.”

“What lab? Why?” Ellie asked suddenly very curious.

“Well, you see my sister had a birthday party the other day and several people died the day after. The police say that she put something in the cake to kill them. Luckily for her she gave me a huge piece, which I never ate and the police don’t know about the part that I have. She’s asked me to take my share to an independent lab so that she can hopefully get her name cleared. I’m putting a warning on it so that people will know not to eat it.” Then he showed her the sign he’d printed.

“WARNING: This cake is possibly the cause of multiple deaths. Taking to the lab after work. Please DO NOT TOUCH in case cake is actually poisoned. - Bill Watland.” Then he opened the fridge and put the warning on the plastic enshrouding the cake.

Ellie, though suddenly terrified, tried to play it off; “Wow, so... some people really died? How do they know it was the cake?” She asked, hoping to make sense of the crazy story Bill was recounting.

“That’s the interesting thing. Everyone at the party was able to choose from either a white cake or a chocolate cake. Most people chose white and only a few ate the chocolate one. Neither my sister nor I ate the chocolate one, which is why she sent the rest home with me for my kids. Thank god they weren't coming over to visit until the weekend or we could've all suffered the same fate. Anyway, the next day all the people who ate the chocolate cake went to the hospital, and the doctors called my sister, because of the birthday party connection. Within two hours of being admitted they'd all died. Now, they're investigating my sister for murder.”

"OMG!" Ellie trembled, her face flushing red then fading to white as the blood drained out of it.

Bill misinterpreted her distress as concern for his sister; "Don't worry, I'm sure it's some terrible misunderstanding, my sister's name will be cleared soon enough. Well, anyway, I’ve got to get back to work. Emails don't stop for death and cake, now do they?" Bill joked. But his joke didn't draw a laugh from Ellie. She simply mouthed “Yup." Her voice breathless and strained.

The moment Bill left the break room, Ellie who’d remained standing by the coffee maker rushed to dump her coffee down the drain and tore off to the bathroom. She tried to make herself throw up, but was unable to purge her rolling stomach of the monstrous cake.

She stood shaking in front of the bathroom mirror, myriads of questions flooding her panicked brain; How would she recover? Would she die? Was Bill just playing a joke on her? Surely the cake hadn't been poisoned, but she didn't dare say anything, not to anyone, at least not yet. She couldn't bear to let people know that she was the lunch thief. She solemnly headed back to her desk and vowed that if she survived, she would never take another person's food as long as she lived.

[mistressofthecubicle]

The Elevator

"C’mon C’mon!" Francia muttered angrily. She hated the elevator in her office building. It was slow as molasses on a winter day, and even though it never broke down, she couldn’t tolerate how long it took to make its' journey. Working on the twentieth floor had it’s benefits, but ease of access by stairs was not one of them. Again she looked at the lights above the elevator. They blinked monotonously as they indicated which floor the elevator was currently stopped at, or what floors it was passing.

“For Pete’s sake!” She muttered under her breath. It was taking much longer than normal today. She kept eyeing the stairwell nearby. She knew she was desperate but wasn’t sure she was up to ascending that many stairs. She would give the elevator another minute to descend and take her to her destination. If not, maybe just maybe she would take the stairs. She was going to be late, but the stairs would make her ever so much later. Besides she didn’t think her small non-muscular frame could really handle all of that exercise. She sighed. She should really work on getting in shape, if she did, then taking the stairs would be easier and a better option than waiting on the elevator.

But she didn’t have to take the stairs today after all. She could hear the sound of the elevator as the grinding gears announced its' arrival on the ground floor. She was the only one waiting for it. "Perfect!" She exclaimed. There would be no unnecessary stops on other floors. She glanced at her watch while the gray metallic doors slowly opened to reveal a few people who coolly filed out. Boy was she was glad to have the elevator to herself. As long as nobody else got on at another floor, then she would actually make it to work in a reasonable timeframe. As the doors closed. she leaned her taut body against the back railing of the elevator right after pushing the smallish slightly scratched button for the twentieth floor.

She sighed with minimal emotional contentment. "Only ten minutes late, that isn’t so bad. Considering how long this elevator usually takes." She watched the doors close and felt the elevator lurch upwards starting its' journey. Francia commenced her normal vocal diatribe. Somehow she believed that by complaining aloud to the machine it would hurry it along. She only luxuriated in cursing out the elevator when she was the sole rider. Sometimes she swore at it, other times she just sighed and vocalized her disappointment in its' poor quality and performance. Letting it know that it was slow and stupid was her way of taking control of a situation that was entirely out of her control. She never thought about what she said, she simply acted like what she told it could make some sort of difference in the way that the machine performed.

Somehow the words she spoke gave her power over the random mechanisms of the elevator. Today, the elevator was going slower than usual. “My god! You are a horrible piece of equipment. This is ridiculous. I’m gonna be late and it’s all your fault. You shitty piece of machinery! I don’t know why I even bother to get on this stupid elevator.” She continued spouting her abuse towards the elevator as well as carrying out her urge to kick the smooth steel plated walls.

As she neared the fifteenth floor, the elevator lurched and slowed then crawled up the last few feet before it came to a stop somewhere between the fifteenth and sixteenth floors. It had stalled out completely. “What the hell is wrong now?” Francia yelled shaking her head thus causing her dark curls to embody her anger with their visible movement. The elevator hadn't stopped to pick anyone up. She smashed a few buttons and then tried to pry the door open, neither of these actions worked. “Great! Just great!” Francia moaned. “Now, I’m gonna be stuck in this elevator all day long, knowing my luck.”

She considered pushing the emergency button and after a few more useless minutes waiting for the elevator to move, she did. She didn’t know how long she would have to wait for a reply, yet she was surprised by how quickly someone answered; “Hello?” A nice automated male voice echoed through the elevator. “Can I be of assistance?”

“You sure as hell can be of assistance. I’m stuck in this crappy elevator in the Monroe building and I want you to come rescue me from this monstrosity. Honestly, you people should've replaced this dinosaur years ago!” Francia complained bitterly.

“I’m sorry to hear of your situation ma’am. Please remain calm. I can most certainly assist you with getting out of the elevator. I just need to ask you some questions first.” He responded automatically. The computer like undertone gave Francia pause for a moment before she continued on with her tirade;

“Fine! I didn’t know that I’d have to pass a test in order to get out of here, but whatever. Ask your questions already, Damnit!” Her exasperation at the situation was only growing.

“Listen, Ma’am, I will try to help you as quickly and efficiently as I can, but you need to employ nicer language than that if you expect any service.” He replied with a calm, yet subtly warning tone of voice.

“What do you mean? I have to be nice to you. I don’t even know you, and so far you haven’t done anything to help me out of this mess. You expect me to be polite when I’m dealing with the stress of being stuck in this rattletrap of an elevator?” Francia fumed.

“I’m sorry miss, I understand your frustration, and we are actively working on a solution, in the meantime it would be best if you would kindly take into consideration the other party and refrain from swearing.” His reply confused her.

“Other party? There is no one here but me. I’m all alone in this hell hole. Who am I supposed to talk nicely to anyway?" Francia demanded her anger barely contained.

“That’s simple." The voice responded. "The elevator."

"What the hell do you mean, the elevator? You must be joking. Am I on some sort of prank television show?" Francia guessed as she scanned the ceiling of the elevator searching for hidden cameras. “What’s going on here?”

The voice continued. “Miss, I’m the E.I.R. The Elevator Intermediary Representative and my job is to mediate between you and the elevator. You see, according to Elevator 0-13991, you have repeatedly insulted and hurt its' feelings and you need to resolve this before you will be allowed to get out, or before it will deliver you to the twentieth floor."

“Wait, What? You mean to tell me that the elevator is mad and has feelings? That’s ridiculous! I don’t believe it.” Francia stomped her foot petulantly on the floor of the machine to underline her statement.

At her action, the elevator, which had been stationary to that point, dropped five floors in rapid succession. Francia barely caught herself from falling by grasping onto the siderails. “Whoa! Okay, let’s say I believe you E.I.R., which I really don’t but I’m going along with this for the moment. How is it possible that an elevator would have feelings and that I could seriously offend it? It’s just an elevator after all."

Francia stated in a matter of fact way. The E.I.R. started to reply, but the elevator shuddered again and Francia grabbed for the handrails. When she did the elevator contracted the handrail, pulling in against the wall like a tortoise ducking inside its' shell. The action crushed Francia’s fingers a bit and she pried them out. “Godamnit. What the hell was that for?"

“You are in real trouble.” The E.I.R. replied.

“No shit! Well, how do I get this monstrosity to let me out?” Francia spoke with panic clearly coloring her voice. There was no response from the E.I.R. “Hello?” She yelled. Francia was suddenly hyper-aware of all the creaks and sounds that the elevator was making. It was eerily similar to a mechanical language.

After a few more minutes the E.I.R. crackled to life again; “Sorry for the delay Miss, it appears as if I won’t be able to mediate the situation after all. I apologize for any confusion that my intercession may have caused.”

Francia was dumbfounded; “Wait, what! You can’t tell me that this elevator is alive and is mad at me, then tell me you can’t help me out of the situation. What else is the panic button for? I called you for help and you are required to assist me.” She whined, shocked by the utter fear that had taken over her mind.

In his cold crisp computer voice the E.I.R. responded. “Again, I apologize. The thing is that Elevator 0-13991 is old enough that it has decided to end itself of its' own free will. As it has decided to self-terminate you, unfortunately will die along with it. Please let me know if there is anything else you need assistance with. As your life is about to end, I won't infringe on your last moments by asking you to complete an E.I.R. customer satisfaction survey. Have a nice day!” The E.I.R. voice clicked off. The non-silence of the whirring machine surrounding her enveloped her once again. “No! this can’t be happening!” Francia choked out, to no one...or to someone...Elevator 0-13991; it was listening to her. Waiting.

She seized on the solution of begging, and it took her a few moments to formulate the words as she didn't know exactly how to speak directly to a sentient elevator. Would it even understand her pleas?

“Please Mr. Elevator, I didn’t mean to offend you. I was only in a hurry. I didn’t think of my actions and how it would hurt you. Please don’t destroy me along with yourself.” Francia looked at the call box hoping the E.I.R. would start speaking again. Nothing, then her whole body was jarred upwards as the elevator thrust itself to the top of the elevator shaft. It was still an older elevator so its' ascent was not lightning quick, yet Francia knew instinctively that it was headed to the top of the elevator shaft for its' last swan dive.

Francia grabbed for the railing in vain as it was still safely tucked against the sides of the elevator. “You horrible thing!” She screamed kicking against the sides of the large metal box, with both hands pressed against the wall as she attempted to remain upright. She tried to pry the doors open but they wouldn’t budge. She gave up and collapsed in the corner. “It’s come to this then, death by psychotic elevator!” Francia shrieked. As the elevator ascended, it shuddered and the metal groaned. It was laughing at her in it’s sick metallic fashion.

She smiled wryly at herself, she never thought that it would end this way. She waited and her breathing grew shallow. Hyper-ventilating from the stress. She lay down on the floor of the elevator. She didn’t care about the grimy tiles on the surface.

It took forever but they were finally at the top floor of the fifty-story building. There was a brief pause before the elevator reversed direction. Francia felt the speed increase significantly as they were in free fall.

She stared up at the numbers above the door as they flipped from number to number as their headlong descent continued unchecked.

She didn’t have to count as the elevator was counting for her with its' electronic lights. 50 40 30 20. She realized she was holding her breath and she forced herself to breathe in and out again. It was almost over. She closed her eyes for the last ten floors, and waited for the end.

They hit the ground and she felt the metal walls buckle and fold around her like a cold embrace of pain and she knew no more. She’d become Elevator 0-13991's final passenger. Wrapped together, pieces of flesh and metal, strewn at the bottom of the elevator shaft.

[mistressofthecubicle]

Which Kind of Witch?

"Mr. Lundie: They were indeed horrible destructive women. I dinna suppose you have such women in your country?

Tommy Albright: Witches?

Jeff Douglas: Oh we have 'em. We pronounce it differently." Brigadoon 1954

Katie with the red hair and Katy with the blonde hair were the best of friends. They did practically everything together. They lived in the same apartment complex and spent all their free time together. The pair even worked in the same office.

Katie Red and Katy Blonde, that's how they were distinguished by their co-workers, unless of course they referred to them by their other moniker, but it was always in hushed tones. Katie and Katy thrived on drama, sought out trauma and created monstrous amounts of havoc in the office.

They'd gotten even more out of hand when the new manager Mr. Leopold, forty-ish, non-descript, non-confrontational and unassuming, had been put in place. An hour wouldn't go by without someone bringing to his attention something that one of the K's had said or done.

He was at his wit's end on how to deal with them, but he didn't want to go to Mr. Feinmeister, the owner of the company. He couldn't afford that black mark on his managerial history. So, he tried, and worked and negotiated and pleaded with Katie Red and Katy Blonde, but to no avail. They were happy in their domination of the entire office and relished the sense of power that derived from the chaos they created.

Their co-workers were in dreadful awe of the pair, occasionally one of them would attempt to dethrone the troublesome duo, however if they were honest in their attempts and pleadings, the pair would simply double down and insist upon their own superior innocence and would then call down additional turmoil and drama onto the vocal ones, the ones who had dared to challenge them.

All employees knew that the pair were terrible, awful human beings who would exact revenge if they felt their power threatened by any attempts at reason and compromise. Lord help the person who even contemplated walking up to them and calling it like they saw it; "Hey Katie Red, Katy Blonde; you two are real bitches!" It's like they had a sense for anyone fomenting rebellion.

So Katie and Katy were allowed to continue with their hostile takeover of the office. Until one day when the sad and oppressed employees went above Mr. Leopold's balding head and complained to Mr. Feinmeister, summarily informing him through phone calls that; "Here be bitches."

Mr. Feinmeister was an old man, from the old world of Germany, people whispered rumors that perhaps he'd seen both world wars. He was that ancient. He appeared in the office one day, soon after the appeal had been made and a hushed, and reverent silence spread through the office. One of baited breath and a glimmer of hope. Mr. Feinmeister is here...at last, an end to the reign of terror!

Mr. Leopold had not expected to see Mr. Feinmeister and was shocked, yet he did his duty and scurried over to assist him. Mr. Feinmeister was bent nearly double with age and topped with white hair and beard, like an ancient St. Nicolas stepped out from children's nursery stories.

Though old and frail, he was not a patient man, and to be disturbed by the rumors was trying to his thin, stretched out single nerve that he still possessed and guarded jealously as a young man with a one-of-a kind top-of-the line, fast as lightning sports car.

Mr. Feinmeister was hard of hearing, honestly nearly deaf as a doorpost, but he chose not to recognize it as a liability. He expected and demanded that all others cede the floor, or explain slowly and repeatedly to him as if they were speaking a foreign language to him and he was asking them to communicate in his native tongue.

He shuffled into Mr. Leopold's office leaning heavily on his hand carved cane and gestured for Mr. Leopold to close the door behind him. He positioned himself behind Mr. Leopold's desk but remained on his feet, opting not to denigrate himself by sitting at someone else's desk. No sooner than it was shut, Mr. Feinmeister began his rant; "How is it I'm hearing tales of witches invading my company? I'll not stand for it! I want you to chase them out immediately!"

Mr. Leopold nearly choked on surprise and laughter but knew of Mr. Feinmeister's hearing troubles and hurried to correct him; "No, there are no witches. There are two employees who are behaving terribly and...ahem...a lot like bitches."

"That's what I said, witches. We have to destroy them!" Mr. Feinmeister insisted, lifting his cane and smacking it against the top of Mr. Leopold's desk, causing Mr. Leopold to jump slightly.

Mr. Leopold didn't want to correct Mr. Feinmeister again, and figured that whether he really got the concept or not was not inherently the most important part. What Mr. Leopold was more interested in was the possibility of a resolution.

Now that Mr. Feinmeister was here, and Mr. Leopold was no longer able to hide his inability to manage the troublesome pair, he was not personally offended. He'd spent the last few weeks fighting a battle that he couldn't win, and instead of worrying over a black mark on his record, he was ready and willing to accept Mr. Feinmeister's intervention and an imperfect record was a very small price to pay.

He gushed his gratitude, happy to unburden himself; "I'm so happy you're here. I've been trying, but I'm at my wit's end on how to handle these two."

Mr. Feinmeister replied; "Summon them. You should've called me much sooner. Witches are a tricky lot and are very hard to get rid of." Mr. Leopold smiled ironically at what he perceived was Mr. Feinmeister's odd, yet somewhat hilarious misunderstanding of the situation.

He hustled to call Katie Red and Katy Blonde into the office. The two had been waiting impatiently, and they flounced in, brushing past Mr. Leopold as if he were a non-entity. Katie Red lifted an eyebrow and smirked at Mr. Leopold as she arranged herself on one of the chairs opposite Mr. Feinmeister who had remained standing like a gargoyle behind Mr. Leopold's desk. It was a "You are going to get it now!" kind of look, and Mr. Leopold was more than happy to close the door and wait in the hall.

This was not a battle he wanted to watch, though he already knew the outcome. The K's may be strong and powerful, but Mr. Feinmeister would not yield and they would hopefully be out on their rear ends by the end of the day.

Katie Red began her diatribe, oblivious to the pointed stare of anger that Mr. Feinmeister directed at her. Katy Blonde's attention was focused on her friend, so she missed his telling glare as well.

"Mr. Feinmeister, we are so glad you're here, Mr. Leopold is very tiring and we can't stand the way...

"Did you curse him?" Mr. Feinmeister demanded slamming his cane on the top of the bureau again, the sound echoed and reverberated around the room, and Katie Red turned crimson with embarassment.

"No?" Katy Blonde replied with hesitation, "We didn't curse him. Why would you say such a silly thing. We simply disagree with his management style and we were hoping that you would see fit to reprimand him or replace him if need be." Katie Red nodded her head in agreement and smiled in a cheshire-like way.

"Do you have anything else to say in your defense?" Mr. Feinmeister demanded. The two stared at each other; "Um... I guess not." they both confirmed. They'd heard strange and bizarre things about Mr. Feinmeister but assumed that he was simply testing them. They glanced sidelong at each other, buoying each other up, or rather they intended to but they rolled their eyes at each other, communicating that they both thought the old man crazy and that they would most likely not get any satisfaction from him.

Mr. Feinmeister's sharp steel blue eyes picked up their less-than-subtle communication; "What kind of sorcery is that?" He shouted, lifting his cane and setting it counter to his now horizontal arm, in effect he'd made a cross that he was holding up as defense against the pair.

"We didn't mean anything by that look." Katie Red stated, her face flushed cherry bright. Katy Blonde nodded her head apologetically and the two slunk out of the office.

"LEOPOLD!" Mr. Feinmeister's belted out. Mr. Leopold shot back into the room, he'd heard enough of the interaction to know that the K's were going to be ousted and quickly, he only needed Mr. Feinmeister's blessing and a specific path to follow.

"What's it to be? Thirty day probation? Verbal or written warning? Do I need to cut them a final paycheck and hand them their pink slips?" Mr. Leopold spit out as many scenarios as he could think of, hoping that where he'd failed in the first instance of his managerial role, he could make up for it by apt resolution in the second instance.

Mr. Feinmeister lowered his arm and the cane, dissolving his impromptu cross. He shrugged and grasped his cane in both hands, placing it firmly on the ground in front of him. A statue of resolve and monolithic immovability;

"Fire!"

"Okay," Mr. Leopold smiled giddily, "I'll get right on that, and have H.R. to draw up the paperwork to get them fired."

Mr. Feinmeister shook his head in irritation, as a bull with a fly hovering around his head, distracting and infuriating him. "No, you misunderstand me. Fire! Burn them! They need to die!"

"But..." Mr. Leopold gulped. "You can't possibly mean that." The whites of his eyes wide as an ocean.

"Don't I?" Mr. Feinmeister queried, his voice dark and calm. "Let me be succinct. It is my determination that they are in fact witches. And what do you do with witches?" He spoke to Mr. Leopold in the same tone of voice that you would use with a wayward child that you're trying to teach a lesson to.

"You burn them?" Mr. Leopold's face was a pale shade of ashy gray. He gulped, nearly choking on his next statement; "And how, exactly do you want me to go about this?"

Mr. Feinmeister collected himself; "That would be your job. You're the office manager after all. I expect you to handle this, and if you can't then I will unfortunately have to let you go." Mr. Feinmeister gathered himself to leave and had already shuffled out of the door of Mr. Leopold's office when he turned back briefly to relate his final piece of advice; "And next time, Leopold, it would be best if you didn't hire any more witches, and we can avoid all of these unpleasant conversations."

Mr. Leopold felt it useless to mention the fact that he'd not hired the bitches in the first place, they'd simply come with the job.

Mr. Leopold slumped into his chair, unlocked his computer and typed "How to burn a Witch." into the search engine and sighed at the amount of results it spit out. "I'd better get overtime for this!" he sighed and plunged into plan making.

[mistressofthecubicle]

Dragon

Horace was a dragon, okay not really. He was just a normal guy. A middle-aged short, balding one with ill-fitting suits who suffered from constant post-nasal sinus drip due to low level allergies. But he did wish that he was a dragon. Especially every day as he sat in his cubicle listening to the monotony around him and breathing in the stale office air.

It was enough to drive a man to distraction. Horace was a good, self-motivated hard working employee, but he had the sneaking suspicion that something was lacking. Maybe a window, or a door or a way out? Eight hours a day at work, five days a week. He was loyal to a fault, but he also found himself wanting to escape, to change it up. Everyday it was the same old thing. Sit in the gray cubicle, answer phones and emails, put out proverbial fires.

Nothing changed, everything dragged forward at a single solitary pace of boredom marching on forever until that fateful day when he would eventually die. It was all way more than he could handle. That’s probably why he’d started taking the pills in the first place. He’d seen the ad on one of the sites that he frequented.

Dragonlovers.com. He wanted to ignore the ad but the more he thought of it, the more it seemed like a good idea.“Take these pills and have the strength, speed, and endurance of a dragon.” He knew it was all hype, but he’d wanted more energy. He wasn’t one for drinking coffee or energy drinks, so the pills had been the right choice for him. He’d gotten them a few weeks ago, a three month supply, extravagant considering how much money he brought home, but he wanted to do something about his energy levels. He hadn’t noticed much of a change as of yet.

But the sixty day money back guarantee wasn’t even close to being up. He still had nearly thirty days to request a refund. He walked into his office this morning, not feeling any different and wishing that he were free. His cubicle reached out to embrace him once again with her cold gray fabric dividing walls. His neighbors said their grunted hellos as he passed. “Why do I keep coming here?” He asked himself as he sat down at his desk and prepared to work.

The trite phrase "Another day another dollar" running it’s canned repetition through his brain as the answer to his question. “Damn!” He swore under his breath. He could already feel his energy draining away and it was only nine in the morning. Maybe it was a good thing that he’d brought his energy pills with him today.

He pulled them out of his pocket. He’d already had one this morning, but he didn’t know how he could make it through the rest of his day otherwise. He had the bottle on his desk and had just returned from the water fountain with a glass of water when his boss sauntered over. “Listen, Horace, you need to get a better handle on your workload. We're going to let a few people go, it’d be a shame…blah blah blah.”

Horace sat quietly listening with a false calm on his face. The ever-tightening grip on his glass the only outward indication of his inner turmoil, as his boss grated against his last nerve with his banal yet self-serving diatribe of “I’m here to boost your morale, but really your work output” speech.

It was the same old spiel, and Horace was used to it. If his boss had been telling the truth every time about the rumors of letting someone go, there would've been no employees left in the entire company. His manager finally ran out of steam for his self-aggrandizing and you can do better than this comments, and had wandered off to harass someone else with his hollow threats in his vain and entirely misplaced attempt to improve production.

Horace sat back down at his desk. He stared at his monitor. It seemed to be humming happily. The tune it hummed was vaguely reminiscent of the song the dwarves sang as they headed off to work in the mines. He chuckled at the inappropriately positive reaction to the negative situation he found himself in. The overwhelming depression of a much hated job pressed in on him and the walls of his cubicle closed around him.

He saw the bottle on his desk and in desperation, he decided to take more than one pill this time. It was recommended that he only take two a day in total, but he didn’t give a fuck, so he poured out a handful, and placed them in his mouth, and downed the entire glass of water to wash it all down. Then he started to work. At first to his utter disappointment there was no perceptible change. But after about twenty minutes of working on the repetitive, non-essential tasks he started to feel edgy and hard.

He became more and more resentful. His internal monologue started up full force. “Do this shitty job Horace! Don’t complain, just be a good little worker bee." He started to internalize all the vapid emails, and his desire to respond in an un-professional derogatory manner grew. He was almost pounding out his responses to emails.

His body temperature was rising, he felt hot. He reached up and loosened his tie. His hands came away with perspiration on them. He felt hot. Hot and angry, and oh so fed up. His cubicle appeared to be shrinking around him and although he knew that it was most likely a reaction to the pills he found that he didn’t care.

“Why the hell do I have to sit in this stupid box anyway?" It was ridiculous. The grey walls taunted him and he wished that somehow he was a dragon. That way he could simply burn them down, or knock them over. He stood up trying to stretch a bit as he was feeling penned in and claustrophobic. It didn’t help.

When did his cubicle get so small? Had they switched the walls on him? Was his boss stealing floor space away from him? He still couldn’t see over the top of them but he could touch the walls with his arms spread, something he was sure he'd not been able to do previously. Somehow the sensation of touching them drove him insane.

A violent urge rose up inside him from around his lungs and forced it's way up toward his eyes and his outer appendages. These walls would no longer hold him. He was pushing against them. He was now taller and stronger and his arms had morphed into reptilian arms. He pushed a moment more and one of his cubicle walls tumbled down into a walkway with a loud clatter, sending dust and debris in a radiating pattern from the site of impact.

Horace immediately breathed out fire onto it, burning it to a crisp. He smiled his evil dragon smile. “Very nice!” Next the other two walls. They were joined to the other cubicles and despite his pushing they didn’t topple over as he’d predicted. That didn't matter. He would burn them with his dragon breath instead. He opened his jaws and blew fire out of his gaping maw.

The remaining walls of the cubicle went up in flames of blue and red. The flames were sparkling and erotically intense. Horace was elated, he was a dragon laying waste to his office. The place he hated most. He moved about the office, his scaly skin and wings brushing against the cubicle walls. As he ventured forth, he either toppled walls or burned them. He towered over all the poor humans who simply stared up at him in stunned silence, or ran to get out of his way. Someone must’ve called the knights though. Horace wished that he’d thought to destroy the communications center before they had.

When the police and fire department finally arrived, they found all of the employees outside the office animatedly discussing how Horace had gone completely nuts. The firemen went in sporting their gear, but they were wholly unprepared for what greeted them.

They found Horace, apparently unaffected by the smoke and fire around him. He was growling and running around the office. He had a lighter in one hand with which he was lighting the office furniture. For such a little man they were surprised at all the damage he’d caused.

It wasn’t easy to restrain him at first as he kept snapping and lashing out at them. Finally with a taser they were able to subdue him. One of the firemen looked at the other one and said over the radio; “This one’s going straight to the loony bin.” To which Horace replied with his smoke roughened voice. “Stupid humans, you will bow before the great and terrible dragon king, or I’ll burn you where you stand.”

After a few more moments of struggling even though he'd been stunned by the taser, he meekly allowed them to take him away. He would bide his time, and they would eventually burn for he was a Dragon, destroyer of worlds and cubicle prisons.

[mistressofthecubicle]

The Exit

The glowing green sign ensconced above the door would rattle in its' frame every time a person went in or out of the door. Laurie sat in the cubicle right next to the door, and if she swiveled her head she could see the people as they came in or went out.

When it was exceptionally quiet in the office, she could hear the buzzing of the sign. A low vibrating of the electric current as it ran through the sign and illuminated the single word EXIT.

Sitting next to the door, reading the sign was like a constant subliminal message that would play through her brain. Exit. This way out. Escape. Get away from this job!

It was a way out, a different place. Certainly, it only led to the hall and the parking lot beyond that, but to Laurie it represented freedom. A new life outside of the one she was currently slogging through.

The one that she was in now was so monotonous, mundane and color-drained.

Her cubicle and the people she worked with varied in miniscule ways, but it was so subtle and not much truly changed over the days, weeks, months and years that she'd worked there.

Several people came and went, but she remained in the same cubicle, regretting her decision to stay, yet afraid to use that door. To exit this job and find another one.

It was always a battle towards the end of the week. At the start of the week, with a fully charged perspective and energy reserve built up from the weekend, Laurie was positive and capable. But by the conclusion, she was drained and depressed.

It was Thursday this week, and it was no different than the last forty Thursdays that she'd come to work and sat next to the Exit sign. She pulled her sandy blonde hair back into a ponytail, and then released it from it's confines only five minutes later. God, she wanted out of this place and that Exit sign served as a less than subtle reminder that there was indeed a way out, if she chose to use it.

She shook her head slightly and read an email. She grunted a hello to a coworker who walked in through the door. And the Exit sign caught her eye yet again.

She swiveled her office chair a bit, and stared up at it's face. It was green, a green that seemed surreal. It was a mixture between a grassy life-like green, and the green one would imagine coming from a nuclear radiation leak.

In retrospect, she should've known that something was off about that day, something was wrong regarding that sign, but her desperation was palatable, and she nearly choked on her sadness and the urge to escape surfaced in her mind like a shark.

It circled her conscious thoughts and began bearing down on her.

"A way out. An Exit. The only Exit." The barrage was quiet but insistent.

"There is no other way. Escape. Get out now!" A voice in her mind repeated matching the slight buzzing of the sign, like a high-pitched soundtrack played on repeat.

Another person walked by and out the door and she glimpsed the hall beyond them. "You're being ridiculous Laurie!" She scolded herself. "It's just a door to the hall, if you walk out, you won't be back and then you'll be out of a job."

She turned back to her desk and her computer screen. The screensaver had come on, and she could see the reflected green of the Exit sign on her darkened monitor. The image chided her for her inaction.

She grabbed a pen from her desk and chewed on it as she brought the screen back to life. Five more emails awaited her attention. People here relied on her. They needed her to work. To focus. To Stay. To Not Leave!

But...what if she did leave? Where would she go? Another person walked out the door and the green sign called to her imagination. "You could go anywhere, do anything you please. Get out while you still can. Just leave!"

She dropped the pen back on her desk, the end a bit more chewed than before, and slightly wet from her saliva. She stared at the moisture as it glistened. Was it green, or was that simply her imagination? Had she stared at the sign so long that she saw green where there was none?

Laurie was furious at herself for her inaction. When would she do something with her life? When would she finally pursue her dreams? How could she ever expect to improve her situation if she didn't take a chance?

She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, and tried to clear her head of every thought. One singular image remained. The Exit sign blinked in her mind's eye, like a secret message whispered just for her.

"Fine!" She swore under her breath. "I get the hint." She sighed and stood up. She would simply step out into the hall and clear her mind. After that she was sure that she could focus on her tasks again.

Laurie turned towards the sign and the door loomed up towards her, almost like it'd been waiting for her in anticipation. She hesitated for a moment. It was only a door, an exit to the hallway, and she was simply grabbing some fresh air, nothing more.

She would be back in a moment, after all she was leaving her stuff behind. If she were actually going to leave for good, she would've taken her things with her.

Laurie stepped forward quickly, her breathing shallow. "Calm down!" She urged herself. "You'll be back!" She had to tell herself that because she knew how badly she wanted a change, a different job. But it was ridiculous to walk out on a paycheck, and she was too afraid to take that plunge. That was what it came down to, a fear of change. Laurie laughed at herself.

"Someday." She coughed, aware that she was completely insincere. She would probably never leave this job. But at least she could be outside it for a moment.

With that thought in mind, she reached for the door and pushed it open, aware that the Exit sign above her head seemed to blink in and out, like the Open signs at the grocery stores.

As the door opened and she saw the familiar and mundane hallway before her she sighed in simultaneous relief and disappointment. The world wasn't going to change. Her life would continue onward ever the same. She saw the sign above her wink at her in a teasing way, like it was in on the joke.

And she stepped through the door and allowed it to close behind her. For an unknown reason she turned back and watched the door shut silently behind her. At the last moment before it clicked shut the floor and the hallway shifted away from her and faded into a black world.

"Oh shit!" She swore, and tried to reach out for the door as it was still momentarily visible but as she grasped for it, it too flickered out and was gone. "What the heck!" Had she really exited the world, or was she simply asleep, having a horrible nightmare of epic proportions?

She searched the area around her, her hands groping for the handle of the door that should've been there. She found nothing. The darkness was thick and nearly tangible and if she'd had a knife she could've sliced off a piece. Her eyes were hungry for light and she turned in circles, searching frantically for a sign of life or hope.

At first there was nothing, then she saw a tiny glimmer above her head. Green in nature and almost familiar, but she at first didn't know why.

She stared and her brain attempted to make sense of it. Then it hit her and she shrieked in horror. TIXE. There it was glowing and shining into the office and there was no door back in. No sign that said Enter. No way back as she had used the Exit.

[mistressofthecubicle]

Coffee

He was tired…so very tired, to the point of bone-weary, semi-zoned, reality is breaking apart tired. Phil had a few more hours on this report if he was lucky, and if not it would be an all-night task. He was working late on a Friday night and there was no one in the office. This was both a good and a bad thing. Good because he wasn’t going to be distracted by unnecessary interruptions, but bad because he had to make his own coffee. He didn’t have time to run anywhere to get some. He needed every extra minute to work on the reports. He shook his head and pinched and slapped his forty-something face a few times in a vain attempt to wake himself up. It was no use he would have to go downstairs to brew some coffee.

He rose slowly and stretched, his slightly rotund figure complaining at the novelty of movement. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to take a quick break and come back to work refreshed. The reports were due by 7 a.m. the next day, Saturday and it was only 11 p.m. night. Besides, if he expected to remain awake long enough to finish them, he would simply have to forage for coffee.

He walked to the elevator, the swishing of his dress slacks set a soundtrack to his journey. He wished he’d thought to bring a change of clothes, because an all-nighter in business clothes was particularly excruciating. He’d long since shed his coat and tie and had rolled his shirt sleeves up revealing the stark white arms of a white collar worker. He entered the elevator but was still preoccupied with the reports and forgot what he was doing and pushed the ground floor button out of habit. The elevator was halfway through its’ descent when he realized his mistake. He quickly pushed the button for the second floor, but the elevator didn’t respond. It lurched a moment then continued on it's course downward. Phil sighed. “I guess a bit of a detour won’t hurt me.” The elevator finally ground to a halt in the basement.

He’d never been in the basement before. He decided that he wasn’t curious enough to walk around. He jammed on the button for the first floor and the button that closed the doors for good measure. The doors stayed open, and the elevator acted broken. “That does it!” He said storming into the hallway in the chilly basement. He would just have to take the stairs. He wandered around for a little while searching for the route back up.

He found a small break room that had a coffee pot with some day old coffee, and a bag of ground coffee. He was glad to see the coffee and poured himself a bit after locating a styrofoam cup. The coffee was stale and tasted nasty, and there was no sugar to be found. Still it helped him clear his head. As he didn’t know how much coffee was in his own break room, if he could ever get there, he decided to take the package of coffee with him.

He wandered around a bit more, but due to his fatigue he could not for the life of him discover the stairway. The basement was more labyrinthine than it had first appeared. He finally stumbled back to the main hallway where the elevator was still waiting as if it had been looking for his arrival all along. All in all, Phil figured he’d wasted a good twenty minutes searching for the stairs. He was relieved that when he entered the elevator, the doors closed and the elevator ascended smoothly to the second floor.

He hurried to the break room and grabbed the coffee maker and the second bag of coffee crystals along with all the cream and sugar he could carry. He was going to have coffee goddammit, but he wouldn’t risk taking any more breaks to get it. He would bring the coffee along to his office and it would save him valuable time. The coffee maker was of the smaller variety; a six cup affair. Relocating the coffee maker was the best idea he’d had yet, but that was why he got paid the big bucks. He would be able to brew as much coffee as he needed and still get his work done.

He was more than a bit relieved when the elevator functioned perfectly once again and delivered him politely back to the third floor. The office looked so bleak and barren with the vast electric lights illuminating the solitude, as he wandered toward his office. He had a corner office and he deserved it. He’d worked hard for it and had given up family and a personal life for the glory of the working world. His sacrifices had paid off. He was close to making partner.

He set the coffee machine on his mahogany desk, unconcerned that it would probably leave a mark on the dark wood, and quickly started it up. Now he could finish his reports in peace. The bag of coffee from his office break room only contained enough to make half a batch, so he was very glad that he’d had the foresight to grab the extra bag from the room in the basement. He joyfully added enough from that bag, and after securing water from the faucet in his private bathroom, started the coffee maker.

He sat back down at his desk and opened up the reports on his computer. They were right as he'd left them. He sighed in relief. He’d saved them of course. He was neurotic about the save function anyway, but he still worried a bit. So much hinged on his ability to get them completed and delivered on time. He wouldn’t be calm until the reports were officially done and sent out. He worked quickly and made good progress.

As he worked he could smell the coffee as it percolated down into the empty coffee pot. Drip drop drip the coffee maker sounded out as if to make him aware of its' valuable presence. It echoed loudly as there were no other sounds in the office to mask the monotonous drops. “Man, that’s annoying!” He laughed aloud to himself, but it would all be worth it, once he could drink that first cup of fresh coffee. Drip drop, click clack, the inter-changing conversation between the coffee pot and his keyboard were rather hypnotic.

Drip drop click drip click drop splash. Phil felt his eyes growing heavier as he fought to continue his reports. “No! I mustn’t!” He only had a few hours. He needed to focus. The coffee was finally done. He poured himself a cup and decided that he would drink it black as he didn’t have time for the sugar and cream to dissolve. Plus, he counted on the bitterness of the straight black scalding draft to assist in reawakening him. He downed the hot bitter liquid in one long draught. He was unconcerned that it burnt his tongue and his insides as it slipped down his parched throat.

He slurped the last of his cup down and paused for a moment to do a self-assessment. Still tired. “I need another cup.” He reached for the pitcher and poured quickly, spilling a little bit on his pant leg. He laughed as it hadn’t burnt him. Caffeine was his friend. In just moments, he felt wide awake and ready to finish his reports. He sat back down at his desk, with his third cup of coffee waiting near him, the steam rising from the cup with a gentle taunt. It was there in expectation for the next time he needed it. Now those reports would be done in a flash. He typed like a whirling dervish, his narrow nimble fingers seeking out the keys on his behalf.

The hours passed with little interruption except when he paused to get another cup of coffee or to brew a new batch, or to run to the restroom. Phil lost track of how much he’d drunk, and was only aware of the disjointed blur of breakneck progress that he was making. His routine became one of make coffee, run to the restroom, work, drink coffee until gone, make coffee, run to the restroom etc.

It was 6:45 a.m. Saturday morning and he was finally done with his reports, and he realized that the darkness outside his office window had lessened considerably. He’d finished with not a moment to spare. He glanced once more at the data on the reports to verify its’ accuracy, then packaged them into a file format and attached them to a company wide email. He hit send. He'd gotten the reports out about ten minutes before the deadline. He felt tremendous euphoria. Everything had turned out perfectly. He was so happy to be done with the reports. He was just about to clean up the coffee maker and had decided to pour himself one last cup to make the weary journey home, when he heard an email reply come in. He hurried back to his computer to check it. Surely it was a reply to his reports; a congratulatory email or possibly a thank you email. When he opened his email his caffeinated cheerfulness dissipated rapidly as his heart sank to the floor.

The email from his boss was simply a string of question marks and screenshots of his reports with lots of red highlighted circles and arrows. At first, it took him a moment to understand, then he dropped his cup of coffee on the floor, the brown liquid puddled unattractively on the carpet which hungrily soaked it up.

He was oblivious to the spreading chaos. He stared uncomprehendingly at the screen in front of him, his numbers were all correct but he’d replaced all the graphics and charts with pictures of coffee cups. He’d also repeatedly inserted different messages about coffee. His whole report was now about coffee. Even the fonts and colors had become coffee colored.

The email from his boss ended with the statement “Where are the real reports? That’s a great joke, but you’d better stop fooling around.”

Phil practically fell over as he scrambled with his mouse. He opened up his reports on his computer, and tried in vain to find one that wasn’t filled to the brim with coffee references. “Augh!!” He screamed and pulled his thinning mouse colored hair. “That’s impossible!” But no matter how hard he searched through all of the files, both the older and newer versions, the coffee remained. Like a stain, it had spread and taken over all the reports, not a single page or workbook was left untouched. The coffee was pervasive and it left traces of itself everywhere.

Then both his office and cell phones started ringing. Phil knew that he should pick up, but he decided against it. More emails from the other partners flooded in. “Ha! You’re a riot Phil, but please send the correct reports now that you’ve had your fun.”

It was over for Phil and he felt a maniacal laugh bubbling up in the back of his throat. He stared as more and more emails came in; all of them demanding the corrected reports. How could he explain that they had coffee stains on them, would it even make sense to them?

He opted not to respond or do anything at all. Instead of handling the emergency, he walked over to the coffee machine. There was still more coffee to make. He would just sit there and drink coffee while his career tanked. Cup after cup, Sip after sip he drank. Drip drop, sip sip, sob sob. He drank all the coffee that was in the package from the basement. Then he went to get more. He went to all the break rooms in the whole building and stole every last ounce of coffee and brought his loot back to his office.

All weekend, Saturday and Sunday he drank coffee and watched his emails pile up like a pending avalanche that threatened destruction. He watched his voicemails fill to the brim, just like his coffee cup. His cup was never empty for long now. He'd gotten a second pitcher from another coffee maker and would switch between the two for brewing the latest batch. He avoided everything else. His hands grew shakier and his heart raced as he anticipated Monday morning when everyone would return to the office. He couldn’t think of a way to get out of it. He’d messed up and he’d avoided everyone. How could he recover from this gaffe?

It was 5 a.m. Monday morning and Phil hadn’t slept a wink. He’d only consumed coffee. He realized that at some point he would have to take the coffee maker back downstairs. He’d now gone through all but one bag of the coffee he’d collected from the other offices.

His intention was to take the coffee maker downstairs to the break room with the last batch of coffee waiting for his soon to be ex-coworkers and then turn tail and run away. He watched the coffee filter slowly through the machine and out into the glass pitcher. It was done. He was done. He reached for another cup, his hands shaking as badly as a centenarian. He couldn’t pour the coffee into his cup. His muscles wouldn't respond to his commands. In frustration, Phil turned the whole pitcher into his personal coffee cup and proceeded to drink directly out of it. The liquid was nearly scalding, however he’d already burned his mouth so often over the last few days, and his mind was numbed beyond all feeling, so he hardly noticed. Small trickles of the coffee dribbled its’ way out of the corners of his mouth, and onto his shirt and pants. Where the drops fell, they left brown stains that spread like mini targets across his chest.

He slurped harder to ignore the hotness on his chest, he would have every last drop. No coffee for anyone else, since they didn’t appreciate coffee so much after all! During his final gulps, his heart lurched forward at its’ fastest pace yet and he reeled dropping the glass pitcher which shattered on the corner of his desk.

Phil fell to the ground, his heart giving out due to the combined stress of his mistake and the caffeine overload. He fell with hands forward onto a few shards of glass that pierced his skin. As the blood trickled out it added a red stain to the coffee colored one of earlier, mixing like some ancient magical potion and creating a new brew that smelled of rusty sadness and lost hope.