1000s of seconds
everyone seems so quiet at work lately. it started when jannelle never came back. that must have been about 8 months ago. the little clock she had on her desk was gone. the old framed bromide picture of her dad and mum at a beach somewhere. the little dancing ninja. that was all gone. she was gone. of course you ask. and people say things. but how do you know what’s true? unless they are in front of you saying something. but even then, the clones, the holograms. it’s pretty uncertain.
then jannelle texted me ‘heyyy you what’s new?’ the morning she did come back. but she wasn’t the same. everyone said that. she was a reformed character. but it wasn’t just her. the whole vibe had gone somewhere else. south maybe. south west? jannelle was always smiling but nobody was buying that. and she wouldn’t say anything about what happened in all those days and weeks and months. think about all those thousands of seconds - and what? what did she do in all of them?
-i better get back to it, she’d say, if the conversation steered that way. i tried a few times. no joy. i looked around the cafeteria and could count on one hand the number of comrades not on something. everyone just looked shaken up, nervous, shifty, broken. jannelle was always smiling but she looked worse than anyone else.
then a whitecoat clipped eddings in the cafe right in front of everyone as he ate a soy analogue strogonof. blood everywhere. still don’t know what that was all about. messy business. even as the bluecoats dragged his limp holocorps away jannelle kept smiling and shoving faux fruit salad into her tight little bloodless mouth.
i had to laugh at that and i remember thinking how strange it was, the sound of my own laughter. the sound of any laughter. jannelle was sat at her desk as i made my way back to mine to start the afternoon shift, sitting there winding up her little clock with that shit-eating grin.
the boss walked past in a stiff grey dress, nodding at me like we were in on something together. i was shocked to see the boss and didn’t know what to do so i just pointed at her as if to say, ‘i never liked eddings anyway’ or ‘you’re amazing’ with the irony dial at 65%. by the time i sat down at my desk i was hyperventillating and so dialled up a med but it didn’t really help and now it's the boss’s weasel face conflated with jannelle’s freaky permagrin i can’t get out of my mind. and then a message on-screen from o’toole: ‘where is the report kreik? this is the last time.'
then jannelle texted me ‘heyyy you what’s new?’ the morning she did come back. but she wasn’t the same. everyone said that. she was a reformed character. but it wasn’t just her. the whole vibe had gone somewhere else. south maybe. south west? jannelle was always smiling but nobody was buying that. and she wouldn’t say anything about what happened in all those days and weeks and months. think about all those thousands of seconds - and what? what did she do in all of them?
-i better get back to it, she’d say, if the conversation steered that way. i tried a few times. no joy. i looked around the cafeteria and could count on one hand the number of comrades not on something. everyone just looked shaken up, nervous, shifty, broken. jannelle was always smiling but she looked worse than anyone else.
then a whitecoat clipped eddings in the cafe right in front of everyone as he ate a soy analogue strogonof. blood everywhere. still don’t know what that was all about. messy business. even as the bluecoats dragged his limp holocorps away jannelle kept smiling and shoving faux fruit salad into her tight little bloodless mouth.
i had to laugh at that and i remember thinking how strange it was, the sound of my own laughter. the sound of any laughter. jannelle was sat at her desk as i made my way back to mine to start the afternoon shift, sitting there winding up her little clock with that shit-eating grin.
the boss walked past in a stiff grey dress, nodding at me like we were in on something together. i was shocked to see the boss and didn’t know what to do so i just pointed at her as if to say, ‘i never liked eddings anyway’ or ‘you’re amazing’ with the irony dial at 65%. by the time i sat down at my desk i was hyperventillating and so dialled up a med but it didn’t really help and now it's the boss’s weasel face conflated with jannelle’s freaky permagrin i can’t get out of my mind. and then a message on-screen from o’toole: ‘where is the report kreik? this is the last time.'
2019
Excerpted from Tales of Ordinary Lives in the Pre-Cyborg Era.
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