21st Century Jonah

99,000 drawers on the wall!
99,000 drawers!
Open one up
See what's inside
Remember it till you die!

The enormity of the Building is so large you have to take into account the curvature of the earth to correctly calculate its size. Even then, some said its size could never be calculated because the human life span is too short. As fresh meat to be ingested and digested within, I watched my fellow inmates scurry to and fro, possessed by purposelessness, forever fetching the needs of countless faceless machines.

Along the top of the walls is an ever present electronic ticker scrolling an endless stream of drawer numbers demanding to be served, like Times Square in Hell's alley. The LED lights glanced off my awestruck face as I was escorted mouth agape to my own personal cell. Worst part was I forgot to leave a trail of bread crumbs if to ever find my way out again.

I kept thinking, "This must be how Jonah felt - only without the hope."

The drawers ran from floor to ceiling, running into the billions, surrounding me and drowning me in terror, plastered with mind-bending labels like "GUBIJN584578RTBIUY" and "!@#$%^*(*^%$#$%^*".  My smiling co-worker was talking nonstop guiding me to the center of my demise but I could barely hear her over the roar of silent screaming in my head. Surely, a place like this is not allowed in the universe. Surely, God thinks more of us than this. Has Darkness won the battle for eternity?

One phrase made it through the jungle mist of horror: "Don't worry. You'll get the hang of it. Been here all my life and still don't know where everything is. You never can. Sometimes I even mumble numbers in my sleep! But, yes, you can become like we are." In the fog of whore I saw a smile meant to reassure. Like a tire with a hole, my spirit dissipated into the miasma until I was fully emptied as I arrived at my computer-designated post. Squinting through the gloom I saw my various "colleagues" chained to their own posts in various states of disrepair, like a dog outside, exposed to weather that gradually reduces it to death; its eyes already vanquished.

Your value is judged by how many drawers' contents you can memorize. 1/2 inch copper conduit. Solenoid wrap indicator switch. Bell housing flex material by grade. Along with six million variations of widgets. And don't forget the vendor ID.

During my night sweats I dreamt I was on a treadmill, never reaching the drawer to which I had been called. The company ogres who can take lives at any time for any reason yell at me louder and fiercer as I fail to fulfill my order and therefor my reason for being. Yet on the treadmill, the harder I try the more I die. In a fit of despair I fling off all my clothes with a cry of pain. "Look, he's human! The fucking freak! Get his damn ass! Get him NOW!" Their hatred is fired by the torment of needing to hide their own humanity.

The only food sustenance is Soylent Green (we all ignored the guy exclaiming what it was). We were animals who'd stepped into a tar pit with only one possible outcome. But no one ever speaks it aloud. We have a mutual contract of doom. We are to substitute the Building's dreams for ours, that the dreams God gave us were immoral and irresponsible; the Building is the highest calling. This clarion call I heard as I watched souls drop and die daily, pleading to a world without ears.

One does not reach such a hellish position without feeling cause to review one's life and felonies past. The Building preys on personal guilt as its foundation; judge, jury, and executioner. Still, I'm left to ponder the severity of my crimes or do all roads lead to power's illusion regardless? Any sliver of escape would do, however remote and distant it may be. A drowning man throws his hand up even with no ship in sight, hoping against hope. Falling down a bottomless pit, a man will grab razor sharp blades if it stops his descent. But in a void, there's nothing to carry the sound of your voice.

Then, standing on my last leg, I heard a message was to be delivered to me. Would this be my deliverance? Had a long lost love sent for me? Had I misjudged the cruelty of the universe? I felt sheepish in realizing I had not given life enough credit for the sanctity of my well-being. A girl with starburst eyes handed me a folded note.

I unfolded it and read: "God Corleone says, Hello."