"I'll set up a meeting for 10 AM tomorrow," decided the voice over the speakerphone.
"OK, great," complied Johnson, terminating the phone line in disgust. The company needed a new widget (all companies make widgets) and he was put on the design team. But I don't give a damn about widgets!
Isolated in his cubicle cell, he ground his teeth in despair, detaching from reality. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I'm being swallowed alive!
A crisis years in the making, volcanic in its eventual eruption. But the outlet remaining ever elusive. He'd had a relationship the previous year but that blew up on him like all the rest leaving one more woman permanently marking him on her enemies list. When would he learn and just stop trying?
But her arms had been a tragic respite, allowing him to further ignore the living hell of his money gathering ways. Now she was gone and his misery more burdensome than ever, choking on words in his mouth. The unreality stretched the limits of his imagination, wondering how his life could become so stripped of meaning. Surely life wasn't meant to be nothing more than a string of empty gestures until death and yet...here it was, exactly that.
What happens when I can't fake it any more, when my disgust finally shines through? I HATE this shit! I hate this fucking goddam world and I can't wait until we blow it up. I'm sick of it, SICK of it!
The corporate machinery is blind in its anger, reveling in the power of fear and loathing. It is a jealous god, suffering no allegiance to any master but itself. Millions flock to its safe haven, drawn to its protection and lure of pulled strings. And like a dysfunctional parent, any whining by the puppets stabs its artificial heart with intolerable anguish, lashing out in instant karma to snuff out any harbinger voice of doom. Appeals can be made in the afterlife...
Burned out, turned out and wiped out, Johnson saw no way out. He'd been selling off pieces of his soul for years, if goddam God gave a damn he never saw any evidence of it. God told him his feelings were as important as the sun, but the corporate god ruled otherwise, finding him in contempt of the common good. As a "free" slave any discontent on his part spoke to a presumed character flaw, as someone who didn't wish to contribute his fair share - but none of that was true for Johnson, even though the corporate god found everyone guilty by birth.
The night has been spent in sleepless dread and the morning whip was especially stinging, as if dipped in alcohol. One day! One day I'm going to take that whip and kill you cocksuckers! I'm going to whip you until you scream for mercy and then whip you again until your eyes see no more and your breath is stilled into blissful peace. But Satan merely laughed, for despite his window being short, he knew it was his time to rule the self-enslaving humans before they woke up at last, the whip driving them to glorious hell. In the whip do they trust!
In the history of mankind, Johnson's meeting passed unrecorded and unnoticed into the slipstream of time - except by Johnson who remembered it as anyone would a firing squad. As usual he survived it by not surviving though the pain had him hopping mad, squelching his hatred by losing another piece of his mind, making him more unlivable with than ever, a circle of burning fire scorching him alive, a modern witch.
That evening, the hollowed human fantasized of global death and destruction, ending the beast's life once and for all. Trapped on a world spiraling silently out of control, his clarion call edged ever louder, unknowingly joined by billions of fellow planetoid inmates also demanding life. The chains of pride strained the human psyche to a greater and greater frustration with each passing day, anger boiling over like acid rain, killing random souls as it dropped. The galley slaves are chained to their oars, refusing to admit themselves freedom, holding onto mutual distrust to the miserable end.
But as the slaves sink their own ship in an inevitable break for freedom from despair, only those who unchain their souls will be able to safely swim ashore.
There is NO political solution