The Maze

When I was hired for the job, I did not realize just how big the place was.  My cubicle was closer to the exit so I was lucky the first year or so.  The bright red exit sign  was my teether, the leash around my wrist, like a small child at an amusement park.  I would glance over my shoulder every half hour or so, the sign smiling at me, letting me know I was still okay, I could still escape.

But then I was promoted.  With promotions come larger offices, better cubicles.  I packed up my boxes, full of supplies, pictures and quirky comic strips.  I looked over my shoulder one last time, seeing the sign flicker, flashing a little and going dim.  I am not sure why that sent a chill up my spine but it made me almost thow up.  I was sure it was a bad omen.

The office lackey  shows me my new cubicle.  I set my box down, aware that I have gained maybe one more foot of space than before. I roll my eyes, raising my hand in thanks.  The guy shrugs, walking off as if he could care less. I scowl, sitting down, placing all my personal items where they were before.

I stare at the gray carpetted seperater, listening to people around me work quickly, their fingers moving over keyboards, phones being answered.  I easily fell into the routine of work again, the only difference being I could roll my chair back a couple more inches.  I still looked over my shoulder, searching for the beacon of hope. I got a sick drop in my stomach when I could not find it each time.  Gradually I became used to it, knowing my leash had been cut.  When I thought of that, the panic in my chest  would start, my breathing coming in jagged quick jerks.

One day, as I typed at my computer, the day passed by, the sun was setting quicker than I expected.  I looked up, surprised at how quiet and empty the building was.  I shut my computer down, the evening shadows already moving in.

"Hello,"- I call out, picking up my briefcase.  I stand up, looking into the sea of cubicle partions, waiting for some other late worker to pop up, their head appearing like they were on a pogo stick.  No one appeared.  I waited, pleading with someone to jump up and answer my call.

"Anyone- here,"  I call out again, my voice echoing slightly.   I start walking toward the exit, turning  and weaving.  Each cubicle looked exactly the same, some with family pictures, some with comics.  I kept moving, turning around, searching for the exit.  I could feel my heart rate pick up, not seeing the end to the cubicles anywhere.

"How is this possible,"-  I asked myself, staring at the expanse.  I feel like I am looking into a room filled with mirrors, the cubicles reflecting over and again until there are the tiny half walls everywhere.  I feel the anger starting, my anger at the situation.  My cheeks start to flush as my fists clench tightly.  The cheap leather handle forms to my hand, the sweat making the material more pliant.  My nails dig into it as I pace quickly, hitting dead ends of cubicles, the stupid trolls grinning at me, their fake jewels tucked into their fat little bellies.

I feel the scream explode before I hear it, as I raise my briefcase case, swinging it around, knocking the trolls into the air.

"Stop fucking smiling. Just fucking stop," I scream, beating the case on the desk.  I stop, staring at the plastic carnage, my eyes blinking quickly, bringing me back to reality.

I drop the case to the floor, my work forgotten as I wander away from it, the beating having worn me out immensely.  I stare out the floor to ceiling windows, watching as the sky gets darker.  The windows seem so close but the more I try to get to them, the further away they become.

"Maybe if i make it to the windows, I can follow the outer wall to a door," I think, staring at the glass, seeing my reflection appear as the night closes in, surrounding the building, the darkness pressing up against the invisible barrier.  I pause, the windows no longer a reasonable option.  I can almost see the shadows' faces, their noses hard against the glass, licking their lips, hungry for what lay inside.

I sit down at a desk, looking around.  Papers are stacked neatly in the corners, the stapler just so, waiting for papers to impale.  I lean back, leaning my head back, my eyes focusing on the ceiling.  I let out a deep sigh, the sound loud in the silence. The flourescent lights flicker, their energy saving timer shutting them down. The blackness comes, swallowing me.  I close my eyes, the tears of stress and fear falling as I try to relax.

I move to the floor, the carpet rough on my aching body.  I crawl under the desk, pulling the chair in front of me like a door.  Pulling my knees up, I wrap my arms around them, protecting myself from the unseen.  As I close my eyes, I start to hear the movements, the scuffling, the crying.  My hands find their way to cover my ears as I try to force myself to sleep, trapping out the sounds as much as possible.  I squeeze my eyes shut as something crashes into the partition, causing it to shake hard against my body.  Instinct tells me to not cry out in fear.   Tears slide my face, pooling in my ear as I lay there, shaking violently.

Some time in the night, sleep overtakes me, filled with fitful nightmares.  I awake to the sound of something moving stuff around above me.  My eyes crack open, expecting the worse.  I see a pair of legs moving the chair aside, the black slacks typical of the office I work at.  The legs move away, pausing at the cubicle entrance.

I move the chair out quickly, knocking into the person's knees.  The loud groan fills the area as he crumbles to the floor heavily.  I crawl out, my stiff muscles screaming for me to take it slow. I pick up the first thing I see, a long silver letter opener, from the desk.  The cool metal feels right in my hand as I weild it in front of me.

"Who are you," I scream, my hair standing in all directions from my half sleep.  The man turns, his eyes rimmed red from fatigue and fear.  He holds his hand up in defense, flinching, jerking, waiting for the blows. The moaning screams coming from his mouth are pathetic at best.

"Get up. Tell me who you are," I say, slowly lowering the weapon.  I stare at him, his all-American- good looks broken by the bloody lips and dirty skin.  His eyes jerk, focusing on nothing but taking in everything quickly. He reminds me instantly of a rat or a weasal, playing the dumb card but plotting their next move with each blank stare.  I tighten my grip again, waiting for him to pounce.

"I'm Dan.  We met in the break room last week.  You know my girlfriend, Staci from human resources,"- he says, his hand mindlessly wandering over the desk.  I look down as his hand lands on a stapler the size of a small child.

"So, why you here on a weekend? Working hard or hardly working,"- he laughs, the sound never reaching his eyes.  I smile, readjusting the grip on the weapon.  Time slows down as I watch him raise the stapler, flipping it like a jack knife.  I raise the opener, bringing it down quickly.  The pop of his eye is a sick, ozzing wetness.  I quickly pull it out, ramming the reddened slicer into his stomach, his toned muscles created by hours at the gym no defense for me.

His plastic smile slides off his face, the blood weeping from his punctured eye. His hand moves to his gut as I quickly pull it out, jabbing quickly and hard.  He starts to fall forward, slumping.  What strikes me as even more errie than the fact that he is deranged and almost attacked me with a stapler was that he was totally silent, his face contorting in pain and anguish, yet no sound same out.  With his last breathe, I hear sound coming from his lips, his bloodied body heavy against me.  It is a small laugh and a whisper.

"Thank you," he says, coughing and choking as his life ends at my hand.  I drop his body, my hands shaking as I drop the letter opener to the floor.  I turn, covering the desk as my stomach lurches and heaves.  I brace myself, the shaking passing as I breathe in deep.

I look down, picking the letter opener up and stepping over the body of Dan, his blood already cooling on the floor.  I have a new outlook on this.  I turn looking, sensing something different. It hits me like a brick wall at fifty miles an hour.  The cubicle partitions are taller today, hitting me at eye level instead of mid waist.

I have a feeling they are growing, breathing swallow so I can not see it, stretching up slowly.  I realize before the day is over, they will be floor to ceiling, blocking out any hope.

"That how you playing this," I whisper, staring at the walls.  I almost feel like if stab the partions, blood will flow from them as easily as it did from Dan. I start walking with purpose, holding the weapon in front of me.  I keep turning, covering my back.  Each time I turn my back, I can sense the walls growing, stretching to the ceiling, reaching toward their maximium height.

The light from the far off windows gets dimmer with each step I take until I am trapped in a darkened maze of carpetted walls and cubicles, the very sound of my breathing echoing around me.

The shadows start coming alive, stretching around corners, watching as  I pass their lairs, like angry dogs defending their territory.  I pause, listening, aware that I can faintly hear a radio playing. Perking my ear, I start to follow it, straining to listen.

As I twist and turn, I catch glimpses of people, hiding under desks like homeless under an overpass.  The only difference was all the people  I saw were dressed in white button up shirts, sensible skirts, dress slacks.  The looks in their eyes were those of wild animals.  They looked as if they would and could claw me to death if they needed to.

The sound of the music gets closer.  I start to run, trying to keep up to the sound.  I see the wild office workers watching, their attire belying their insanity. I never even see the woman when she steps out from around a corner, her blouse ripped, hanging off her shoulder in tatters.

She raises her head with effort, her perfectly coifed hair stiff with hair spray and dried blood.  A light glows from her eyes brightly as she holds her badge out, her name written across it with her title under it.

"I'm Staci. Human Resources,"- she said, baring her teeth as she attacked me, holding her hands out, her bright red nails like sharp daggers.  The scream coming from her mouth was like that of an enraged lion, hungry for revenge, full of bloodlust.  I had killed her mate and she wanted me dead.  I felt like my job had evolved into a dangerous jungle, the fight for your life around every corner.

I grabbed Staci's wrists, spinning and slamming her into the wall.  Random items fell from the shelves, her scream never faltering.  I could sense others watching, the smell of panic washing over everyone.  The pushpins stabbed into her back, tiny nubs against her skin.  I felt her nails rake across my face, tearing at the flesh around my eyes and nose.  The warm blood oozed out of my skin, seeping into my mouth, the coppery bitter taste making me spit.

My hands found her slender, pale throat and locked on.  I could feel her hands pulling at mine as I tightened their hold, her body fighting against its death.  I watched as her clawwing became more erratic, as her eyes started squinting and staring hard at me.  Tears rolled down her cheeks, yet the enraged look stayed.  Her face started turning red, my hands white as I held her pressed up against the wall.  I felt her body slacking, giving out.  I could feel the tears and blood sticky on my face.

I am not sure when I started to hear the loud animalistic screaming.  I am not sure when I realized they were my own.  My fingers unclenched from around Staci's dead thraot, the purple bruises the only sign that she had lived.  I feel to my heads, covering my head in my arms, the screaming only getting louder.  I closed my eyes, listening to the radio, the song hitting me like a brick wall.

The gravely voice of Axl rose sang softly, somewhere within the dense maze, "Welcom-e to the Jungle"-, opening his arms to me, welcoming me to my new home.  I knew then that I would never leave.  I knew why Dan had thanked me.  I knew if I wanted to survive, I would have to kill to survive.

I looked at my hands, the blood still warm.  I could do that, I thought.