My boss is always telling me 'destroy the ice worm', or 'the ice worm must be destroyed'. I have no idea what he's talking about.
I stare out the window. Fire falls from the sky. I'm not sure where it's coming from. In the streets, a thousand people walk about, all of them staring up into the sky. Some look a little too happy. Most look terrified.
I turn back to my monitor. Tickets fill up the screen.
At home I puncture the polyethylene film of a ready-meal with a serrated knife I bought from the corner shop. It has a plastic handle. It feels like it will break every time I use it. I slide the tray into the microwave and press a sequence of buttons that was passed down by my ancestors. A smell of hot metal fills the room.
The meal is hot on my lap as I watch the screen. I dig some utensil into it to retrieve pieces of flesh, vegetal segments, some kind of sauce. A plane flies over a city. The camera zooms into an office, where a man is sitting at a desk. He looks up and smiles. He stands up and walks towards the window. He opens it. He looks down and waves at the people on the street. A car jets off a ramp. Two men are punching each other in the face.
I stand in line at the grocery store. The clerk looks at me and I look at him. I feel like I should say something, but I don't know what to say. He's wearing a badge with his name, 'Brian'. I think I've seen him before. I wonder if I've ever talked to him. I wonder if he has a family. I wonder if he has a cat, or a dog. I wonder if he goes to church. Does the god he prays to exist? Does mine? I hope god is hungry for my flesh. I wonder if he's happy.
I walk out of the store with my groceries in a plastic bag, which makes me feel guilty, but I like feeling guilty. That, I can control. I write 'lol' at the end of each sentence that means anything to disarm it. I put the bag in the car and close the door. I turn the key. The car does not start. I look at the dashboard, but I don't know what I'm looking for. I look out the window. I look at the other cars. I look at the people walking on the sidewalk. I look at the sky. I look at the sun.
It's night. I'm driving and the road is straight. I look at the road. I look at the road signs. I look at the other cars. I look at the sky. The moon guides my way.
I look in the mirror. I see the road behind me. I see my face, my eyes. I look tired. I think about shaving. I think about getting a haircut. I think about getting a new shirt. I think about a new suit. I think about a new car. I think about a new job. I think about a new house. I think about a new family. I think about a new body, small and sleek and feminine and full of knives. I think about having my mind wiped, needles sliding into my skull, biting down on the bit and screaming out all that I am, little that it is. I think about a new country. I think about a new planet. I think about a new universe. I imagine fire consuming this one. I imagine fire consuming me.
My boss is standing at my desk. He wants me to look at something. I look at what he's showing me. I nod. He points at the screen. He says something I don't understand. He says something else. He says something else. He points at something. He repeats himself. I nod. I say yes. He puts his hand on my shoulder. He squeezes my shoulder. He smiles. He says something else. He turns around and walks away.
I look out the window. There is a street. There are cars. I see a thousand names I don't know. I look at the code. I don't know what to do.
