Prologue 2

 Noise. So much Noise. Alarms ringing. Cars screeching. Birds incessantly chirping. Am I dying?

I drag my limbs, one after the other, from their dormant positions. My left leg decides not to cooperate and forces me to trip. I get up after laying on the floor considering how lowly and pathetic I am. I slam my forehead against the wall. I can't feel it. All I see is vague outlines as I scuttle to the coffee machine.

How is it possible? Am I actually out of coffee? No, its simply not possible. I'm wrong. I have coffee. The machine refuses to work. This makes me think of all the other things refusing to work today. This list includes my brain. I take the coffee beans and grind them into a pulp, then I pour some boiling water over them through a filter and get just under a half of a cup. The coffee doesn't taste quite right. It rakes down my throat. It brings a blissful pain to my senses. The edges clear up a little. Things start to sharpen as I make my way through my house. The mountainous pile of dishes on my left warns me to keep away before it buries me in a pile of my own filth. The living room seems sad today as usual; since it hasn't been used in a long time. The front door opens and shuts for me just like any other occasion. The door lets me leave, and yet keeps me prisoner. It swings open and shut mechanically, but I'm not ready to leave yet. I return to my bed in an attempt to sleep-off my wrongdoings.

What time is it? I only have to ask once because the clock on my shelf gives me a sarcastic look and points out that is 9:00AM. “AH S**T!” All of a sudden things change. I go from laying to standing in a matter of seconds, and I automatically start closing the gap between me and the doorway. I notice on my way out that my coffee machine, which is in perfect condition, sits unplugged and undisturbed. I don't even get a minute to contemplate how stupid I am before I'm fumbling for my car keys. Luckily I only have a house key, and a car key, so my options are limited-enough to save me some time. I jam the key into the lock, and jump across the console to the driver seat. I quickly readjust my mirrors, seat, and steering-wheel. How late am I going to be? How many hours am I going to have to spend kissing-a*s in order to regain good ground with my higher-ups? And luckily for me traffic is terrible.

I clock in at 10:13AM. The meeting has to have started without me. I run down halls, and must have looked unprofessional and frantic as I skidded around corners in a mad dash to the conference room. The heels of my shoes didn't feel as tall as they did when I had entered the building. People started to stare at me. The room was closing in around me. Its a dreary place to hold a conference. The gray-blue walls welcome me to the meeting in a depressed manner. The table is long and white, and perfectly placed to make it obvious who wasn't paying attention. Co-workers and bosses were all gathered around talking around a useless power-point presentation that was really only used as a tool to say “look at me! I made a completely useless slide-show that explains nothing if I'm not talking during it.” Three of them pretend I don't exist, one of the directors blatantly pointed out my seat for me as if I were a complete fool. To them, I probably just ruined my own reputation.

Let me start complaining by first telling you about the chairs of that particular conference room. The chairs were horrible. Their backs were set at a perfectly uncomfortable 91°. They were made of a kind of soft metal that only starts to feel uncomfortable after the first five minutes of the conversation. They had a flat base that would catch on the rug and was almost impossible to move. They chairs themselves were also far-enough back that anyone in the room could tell if you decided to check your phone, or were fidgeting with something, and they always used those as excuses for dismissal. The company I dread working for, but am a part of, is the kind that is headed by wolves. At some point I do remember having a decent staff, but since that point the competitive b******s have taken over. The ones hat have money, sway, and job security. Nobody will ever oppose them, because its not worth their pay. This is how things become corrupt. This building may appear gray and indifferent on the outside, but on the inside it reeks of black endless corruption.

So I sat uncomfortably as the leader passed around, aggressively-colorful, sheets of paper that amounted to nothing at the end of the day. The meeting ran long. People began to loose attention, and then were dismissed. The enthusiasm, or lack there of, was awkwardly noticeable. When the shark with gray scales stopped speaking I left. Thus, I returned to cube-field. This is where you will find all the low-paid, overworked, unimportant ghosts of the company. We will never move up in this company because of the hierarchy created by politics, and greedy b******s who refuse to share wealth or position. They have forcibly created a cap that none of us can surpass. So here I will stay, until I don't.

Today is just as demanding as every other day. The tide rises, and we are flooded with papers. Anything and everything that is unimportant, but necessary, is delegated to the cubes. It makes it so that the people above us can enjoy their luxury in peace. While they sip tea, and chat with important clients; we are working our fingers to the bone trying to stay afloat while under attack from the papyrus tsunamis that they use us to deflect. We are the warriors that keep the company afloat. Because there is not a philosopher among politicians; we will forever be stuck here. We complacent sheep-people. These floors of the building contain everything from secretaries, to grunts, to middle-management. All of these positions have poor benefits, poor working conditions, and poor salary. We are the people who refuse to complain as long as there is food in our stomachs, and hope somewhere far on the horizon.

I took the buss home today. It sluggishly pulled up to my stop to let me in, and the doors let out a great sigh as they allowed me to pass the threshold. The driver gave me a genuine smile as I boarded the vehicle and left a tip in his jar. He who is less fortunate deserves my sympathy. He drives far longer into the night than I ever will. I respect these people who keep society running. I take one of the remaining seats and try to keep my feet off the repulsive floor. I see people from all walks of life on the buss today. The wealthy, the poor, the scavenger, and the innovator. I approached none of them. Just before leaving; someone managed to walk past me with something that caught my eye. The man was holding a tablet that looked familiar. It had a kind of symbol on it that looked funny. It looked like two bent staples covered in blue neon. The logo was placed strategically, but still appeared subtle, in the lower right corner of the device.

When you ride on a public buss; it becomes a general "rule of thumb," not to look directly at, or talk to, anyone on the bus if you didn't know them prior to entering the vehicle. I decided to brake that rule, but this was not before completely making a fool of myself. In order to talk to the poor fellow I had to first get up out of my seat. My mind was to puzzled by why the symbol would be found in such a place, and did not consider that I was aboard a moving platform which was capable of any number of maneuvers. Thus, I got up, and the bus stopped. This, by properties of physics I can't fully comprehend, caused me to plummet down the isle with no grace. The journey, from sitting, to standing, to flying was an extremely uncomfortable sensation. The part where I was off the ground was borderline peaceful, but the rest was not. I specifically remember the vertical indentations on the rubber mat loosely placed on the ground. I'm guessing that they were made for traction, but they also were quite adequate at attracting every disgusting particle which fell upon it. This was a considerable problem on account of me not being fond of chewed gum, or empty coffee containers, or any variety of disgusting human aftermath. This didn't stop those horrors from attaching themselves to my person. This became evident when I was helped to stand by the same person I wanted to talk to.

First he assisted me in brushing off the grime, and other unmentionables, attached to my coat. Then we had one of the most awkward conversations that I can possibly recall. It was a range of me apologizing mixed with his stifled laughter, and of course, one important question. “What was that thing!” and why did I see it on the intelligent drunkard's napkin?

As it turned out; the symbol on his electronic device was one of a particular company. Finite Works co. I'm honestly surprised that I had never seen the image sooner since it was on quite a few quality products. This deepened my curiosity. Over the next few days I developed an insatiable thirst for answers on my mysterious friend. As it turns out he actually works for the company. I saw his name on the support page of his website along with his e-mail address. Strangely enough this website failed to tell me his position at the company. So I decided that I would take one of my vacation days in order to finish my little mystery.