NaNoWriMo 2010 – Day 4

Robin welcomed sleep at the end of her day but it came earlier than she’d plan. A meal for one had been eaten and she’d settled in to an evening’s TV watching. She’d barely made it an hour when a wave of tiredness hit her and she fell asleep where she sat. It was a sleep that was almost instantly deep, born out of a wearisome day (as one involving crossing dimensions always was).
Robin dreamt as she slept. It was not a dream she wanted. It was a dream that took her back to the alternate world she’d been so glad to leave. She was not herself in the dream. She was a predator. She wanted the alternate Robin that she’d met that day and she was determined to have him. She was pulling his lips to hers and clothes were being torn. She was whispering obscenities to him and he was loving every minute. Just as she felt him enter her, he was suddenly gone and she was lying alone on the desk, half-clothed. The dream dissolved around her and she awoke, once more on her sofa, with the TV before her, now reduced to static images and incidental music as the graveyard shift was in full swing.
She didn’t want to go back to sleep. She decided instead to throw herself into some work she had brought home. With sleepy eyes, she scanned printed pages of text, only half reading any of it as she tried to ignore the ache she felt between her legs.

Robin was counting down the days. He didn’t know exactly how long it would be, but there was projections and averages for these things and they were usually pretty accurate. I’d be a week at the most and then he’d see her again. It made things easier if he didn’t think of her as a version of himself. She was a separate person. She wasn’t him. They were as unlike as any two people could be. He was a man and she was a woman. But then, they were as close as twins. Robin frowned. He pushed the thought to one side and got on with his work.

Robin was dreading each day’s passing. Did he really want her like that? Surely no one would ever consider such a thing seriously? But for a single chromosome, they were the same person! As alike as brother and sister. More alike, even. But then, so much separated them. They were literally worlds apart. She began to wonder if it wasn’t him wanting her that was so frightful. She began to wonder if the dream would come true. Would she become the predator and him the willing prey? She was unsure whether the answer would be gratefully received by anyone. She pushed onwards into her work, trying to make it as slow-going as possible.

Katherine sat on the pavement. She was thankful it hadn’t rained that day so she was at least dry even though the wind was doing its level best to make sure she made no approaches to the sensation of warmth. She pulled the sleeves of her jumper down over her hands and its hood up to wrap around her ears. She wished she had a hat. A proper woolly one. The hood knocked her hair across her face and she vainly tried to flick it out of her eyes. She gave up and huddled deeper into her world of insufficient protection.
She sat and watched people pass her by. She didn’t say a word as they passed. She’d only been kicked out two days ago, she didn’t need money yet. Yet. That was the operative word. She had nowhere to go. All her friends were back home. Her father had insisted they move down here so once he’d married her, they could live in her house. She hadn’t liked having Katherine in her house, so it was inevitable that Katherine would have to go. Katherine’s father had stood helplessly by as she’d been accused of things she hadn’t done. Katherine was happy to leave if it meant getting away from her. She just wished that her father had done more.
So here she was. Sat on the pavement with nowhere to go. She had nowhere near enough money to get herself back home and what was to say her friends would even have her if she could get back there? Did she honestly think any of them cared that much? No, she was on her own now.

Robin was practically skipping into work the day he’d been told she was coming back. He’d gotten up especially early to make sure he’d make it into work on time and he did just that. He was there for the pre-arrivals briefing and sat through it with a barely concealed smile. He waited with the rest of his team in front of the arrivals elevator and his heart almost stopped when he heard the familiar “bing”.
The doors opened and the alternate versions of Team 5 shuffled out. They were greeted like old friends as usual each member was promptly escorted off to their office. The numbers were thinning and Robin still had yet to find her. Suddenly there was a tap on his shoulder and Robin span round in swift anticipation.
“Hello there, old chap.” Robin’s face fell as he recognised the alternate version of Jerry Hawkins, the leader of Team 5. “I expect you’re looking for your alternate.”
“Um, yes sir.” Robin replied.
“Not with us today, I’m afraid. Hadn’t quite finished up with everything so she said she’d come along tomorrow.”
“Oh, I see.” said Robin, downhearted. “Tomorrow, then.”
“I’m sure you’ve got things to be getting on with in the meantime, eh, lad?” Jerry said. “And you never know, she could be done quicker than she thought and be along this afternoon.”
“Here’s hoping.” Robin gave a smile and let himself be buoyed back to the office on a wave of geniality.
The morning dragged as Robin tried to stretch out some work that didn’t really need doing. He found himself reorganising files that were already in perfect order and checking references on data that had long been deemed good. This was broken up by sighing and taking longing looks at where she should be sitting and out of the window at the view she’d seemed so interested in.
He decided to head out for lunch, as he had no one to spend it with, Team 2 Robin Ver being long gone. He grabbed a poor imitation of a sandwich and a luridly coloured juice drink from a nearby newsagents, almost tripping over a young girl sat on the pavement on his way out. He saw her face as she briefly mumbled a sorry at him and there was a flash of familiarity. He dismissed it and headed back to the office. It was too cold to sit outside and eat today. He’d eat at his desk.
He arrived back and was unsurprised to find an empty cubicle. He had to admit there’s been a small glimmer of hope there, but it was very unlikely. It was still lunch time, and most of the cubicles were empty of employees, from this reality and others.
Lunchtime ended and people filed back into the office. Time passed and Robin let his hopes die. He returned to his work, vainly trying to keep his mind off her. Trying to ignore the fact that his memories of her were entwined with flashes of the dream that had seemed so real.
“Hi.”
Robin’s mind didn’t register the voice at first, instead folding it into the daydreams it had been marching across the front of his mind for the past fifteen minutes. A split second later, his ears sent a back-up message that, yes, that had been a real sound and he should pay attention. Robin looked up and there she was.
“Oh!” He tried to stop what he was doing and stand up and go to meet her all at once and things go out of hand. Instead he succeeded in partially standing, knocking the lurid drink over and sitting back down again. He stared ineffectually at nothing as his mind tried to decide whether he should try again or get on with sorting out the mess he’d made.
“Need a tissue?” She was smiling and possibly holding back a slight laugh.
“I think that might be best.” Said Robin. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I finished up quicker than I thought. Or at least I decided to. Nothing that can’t wait, anyway.”
Robin smiled at her, absent-mindedly dabbing at the pool of juice with the tissue she’d handed him. “Well, I’m glad you did. I’ve been rather at a loss as to what to do all morning.”
“Nothing else for you to do?”
“Not while the whole team is focused on working with you guys.”
“Ah, I know that situation. Sorry to have kept you then!” She gave him an apologetic look.
“It’s ok. Was quite relaxing, I suppose.”
“You’re not exactly doing well there.” She indicated his mopping.
“Hm? Oh!” Robin looked down at the pool that had barely been cleared at all. “I think I may need some more tissue. And possibly a new keyboard.”
“I’ll grab you some from the bathroom. Tissue that is.” She gave him a wink and headed off to supply him with further tissue. Robin tossed the soggy bit he’d been using in the bin and took a seat.

As Robin walked to the bathroom, she thought about what she was doing. She was flirting with him. Was this really a plan? She’d decided to give him enough rope to hang himself with, as the saying goes. She wanted him to go as far as he could with wanting her and realise what he was doing. But she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to realise. He’d stood up as she’d entered the cubicle and she’d seen what was happening down there. Her dream had come back to her and it had made her ache. She’d dismissed it as soon as she’d thought it, but it was still there. It was gnawing at her.
“Shut up.” Robin thought to herself. You’ve just got to work together. Just get on with what you have to do and stop thinking about this. “Stop thinking about what?” her mind asked in a mocking tone. She glared inwardly.

NaNoWriMo 2010 – Day 3

Robin Ver awoke the morning of June 16th 2042 to the sight of a digital alarm clock telling her she was late. Not very late, but just late enough that you can’t have a proper breakfast (not even something overpriced and under-nourishing grabbed from the shop). She pulled on some decent clothes and checked herself in the mirror. A few tweaks and she looked good enough to head out the door. She’d only be meeting herself today, so there didn’t seem to be too much point in making an effort.
Traffic wasn’t too bad as she drove to The Library. The little car she drove had been a sensible purchase after too many bus journeys had made her very late indeed. A car was a justifiable expense when her job was on the line. A pass for the staff car park hadn’t seemed worthwhile though, as there were usually enough spaces on the streets nearby. She managed to find something suitable, with no restrictions, only a few hundred yards from The Library.
After arriving at reception, she headed straight for the door to the departures department. She was just in time for the briefing from her team’s head. It was the standard briefing, consisting of safety protocols and such-like. There was also a list of names of people who’d be meeting alternates. Robin’s name was on the list, but then she’d been told that a few days ago. She didn’t bother to listen to the next list, which detailed who everyone else would be working with. There was some slight amusement when it was discovered that two members of the team had alternates on the other side, but working opposite roles.
With all this done, the entire team filed into the departures “elevator”. It was roomy enough to fit everyone in, but it rather threw out the idea of “personal space”. The team leader hit the button (there was only one), it lit up and they waited. After less than a minute, a voice came through the speaker.
“Where?”
“ER7-724272.” The team leader replied.
They waited a few seconds and the light went out. There was a “bing” and the doors opened onto the arrivals department of ER7-724272. The alternative team 5 were waiting for them and each member greeted his or her opposite warmly. Laughter broke out as the alternates working in opposite departments found each other. No one came to greet Robin Ver. She stood, scanning the crowd for a familiar face, but they were all busy talking to their alternates. Suddenly, a man wearing the uniform of the arrivals clerk approached her.
“Robin Ver?”
“Yes?.” Robin replied.
“I’m afraid your alternate doesn’t seem to have arrived at work yet.” The clerk told her. “He hasn’t called in sick, so it’s to be assumed that he’s just running late. Would you like to take a seat in the waiting room?”
Robin nodded and the clerk led her to the waiting room beside the arrivals desk. She caught the eye of the team leader (she knew it was him rather than his alternate as they were wearing different ties) and he gave her a waive and a brief “see you later”. She took a seat by herself in the waiting room and picked up a magazine.
She’d become quite engrossed in an article about a vapid celebrity she’d never heard of who’d had a number of children by a number of different men, when she heard voices outside the door. There was the sound of footsteps and the door opened.
“Robin Ver?” the clerk asked.
“Uh, that’s me.” She replied, pushing back an urge to be sarcastic. She shuffled the magazine she’d been reading back int the pile and stood up. The clerk led her back out into the main area of the arrivals department.
“Miss Robin Ver of dimension ZZ9-221984.” The clerk announced. A man stood before her who she’d met a number of times before, as alternates of her often seemed to be men (she wasn’t sure why this was, she’d probably have to chat to someone in the statistics department about that). He seemed to be staring at her and hadn’t said anything yet.
“Um, hi…” Robin said, “I’m Robin.”
“Oh, yes!” the other Robin to snap out of some kind of deep reverie. “Sorry about that. It’s just that I’ve never been a woman before, I mean…”
Robin laughed politely, “I get what you mean. I’ve met male versions of myself before. A fair few, in fact. There seems to be woefully few female Robin Vers out there. Or maybe they all just went somewhere else for work.” It often happened like this. She began to wonder if she should try and ugly herself up a bit before these encounters.
“Maybe they did. Well, it’s lovely to meet you and welcome to ER7-724272.” He offered her a hand to shake and she shook it gingerly. “Shall we head up to the office? You do work in team 5, don’t you?”
“Yep. Arts researcher, just like you. Or so they tell me.”
“And they’d be right!” He smiled and led the way through the building. She tried to point out that it was almost identical to her own building, but he was having enough of it and insisted he lead. He was astounded to discover that their lives up to now had been very similar, as they always were. She held back the acidic comments her mind was trying to push through and kept the conversation light and friendly. It was tough to keep it up and she had to resort to talking about whatever greeted them as they walked the corridors. He seemed delighted by it though and absolutely fascinated by trivial things such as what drinks the vending machines back in her world stocked. Robin sighed inwardly as she realised he was trying to flirt with her.
They arrived at the office and made their way to the cubicle they’d share. Robin dove headlong into more polite banter, doing her best to feign excitement that “It’s even in the same spot!” She searched for something else to pick up on and found the view to be the best available. “I still get that lovely view out of the window. Oh, but that church isn’t there.” It was a horrible modern church and she was rather thankful it didn’t exist back home.
“Take your pick.” the male Robin said, indicating the extra computers spread around the circular desk. “I’m on 1, obviously, and some guy from RR6-565677 has been using 4 a lot recently.”
“One of us?” Robin enquired.
“No, not another Robin. His name’s Terry, I think. Don’t think he’ll be back for a few days, said he had a lot of material to gather. All The Beatles are still alive and making albums where he’s from, apparently.”
“The Beatles?” Robin looked confused.
“Yes. Surely you guys have them?”
“Don’t think so. But maybe they’re just not that big and I haven’t heard of them…” She vaguely remembered them cropping up in other assignments but they hadn’t been her cup of tea.
The male Robin laughed “Maybe! I’d love to know what those guys did instead! Here, I’ll pull up something for you to have a listen to.” He sat down at his machine and started clicking away, Robin continued in her futile quest to find something nice to say about the view.
“Here we go.” his voice said from behind her. She turned and walked over to see what he was on about. He clicked his mouse, and turned on his speakers, and music began to scratch its way out. Robin listened intently, an amused smile slowly formed on her lips.
“I know this one!”
“Oh, so they do exist?” the male Robin was looking at her hopefully.
“I don’t think so.” She gave him a troubled look. “I think it was churned out by one of those awful pop factories in the late 20th. I can’t for the life of me remember who was singing on it. Not that it matters really.”
He looked terribly disappointed, “Oh dear. It’d be a real shame if they were reduced to that sort of thing.”
“It was probably a cover or something.” She tried to give him a reassuring smile. “Give me all you can on them and I’ll do some research when I get back.” She took a seat at 2 and vainly tried to get on with some actual work while a vapid pop hit was rattling around in her head.
The male Robin insisted on taking her to lunch. She was pleased with this until she discovered he intended for them to eat in The Library’s canteen. She usually avoided it like the plague as they had a terrible habit of filling their sandwiches with things she hated. Here was no exception and she spent more time picking a sandwich apart than actually eating it.
They’d been joined by another male Robin Ver that she had also yet to meet, though this one apparently worked on Team 2. She’d left them to talk amongst themselves for the most part, until she caught a name she recognised.
“Jenny Saunders? She got very drunk and tried to kiss me at a party once!” she exclaimed. They laughed at this and she joined in half-heartedly. She felt it best not to mention that Jenny had been devastated at being rejected and the teasing that had resulted had resulted in a few unfortunate incidents of violence against herself and others. Jenny was very much not a well woman.
The rest of the day pottered along quite mundanely, filled with the usual polite conversation of people who work together. It was neither dragging nor quick and Robin found herself glad to be heading back to her real home at the end of it. This world’s Robin Ver was a bit too much for her taste. Or at least he seemed to want to be too much.

NaNoWriMo 2010 – Day 1

On December 13th 2017, One was born. One was a being with the power to punch holes in reality, making gateways to other dimensions. One was thirteen when the government took him. Until they took him, he had no control of his power. He’d often drop things and find they were gone completely, sent through the void to somewhere else. The government took him and trained him as best they could. They wanted to use him. They indoctrinated him with ideas of his powers being a road to a better society. Being an impressionable young boy, he believed every word. This is not quite his story.

The Library is an imposing building. Not merely because of its size, but more due to its function. The Library is knowledge. It warrants capital letters for a title that isn’t even official. The Library is its common name, more formally its The Institute Of Forgotten Knowledge, but The Library stuck.
The Library ran on the power of One. It was not controlled by him, he was merely a tool. It used him to provide gateways to other dimensions. It used these gateways to acquire knowledge. Forgotten knowledge that had been lost in our dimension was often still known in others. Some dimensions even yielded information currently unknown to us. Certain breakthroughs in science came about at different times. Certain world events had not happened or had different outcomes. Prominent figures had taken different paths in life. It all yielded new and exciting information (well, mostly exciting. The recipes published by alternate Stalin were almost universally unpopular).
The Library took the job of researching such things. It was a mammoth task as all information from each new dimension would have to be sorted through and checked against existing knowledge for inconsistencies. Irrelevant information would have to be discarded. Anything interesting would have to be fact-checked and researched further. It often took up to a few years for a team to nail down the definitive version of what had been gleaned from a dimension hop.
The work was gradually getting easier though as many dimensions they visited now came with alternate versions of The Library. One trip would result in not only nicely organised documents to work through, but ready-made case studies on dimensions that had yet to be visited. They even came with alternate versions of the teams that were sent through, effectively doubling the work force.
Each office at the library was a curious thing. There was an office for each of the ten teams, with cubicles assigned to each member of the team. These members would cover different areas of research; physics, chemistry, biology, engineering, alternate history, the arts, etc. What was peculiar was that the cubicles were not designed to house just one occupant. They instead housed a large circular desk fitted with enough equipment for up to five people. This was because there would often be teams from multiple dimensions working out of the same office all at once. Employees of The Library were used to seeing several versions of themselves a day. It was a unique experience and facilities had been set up on-site to help them cope.

Robin Ver was one such employee. He worked as the arts researcher for team 5. He generally enjoyed his job. It amused him to find works by alternate versions of historical figures. A folk band fronted by Margaret Thatcher. A leading light of the ‘80s thrash metal scene with Tom Cruise on lead guitar. Modern art by Karl Marx. He’d even been to a dimension where a band fronted by Queen Elizabeth II had birthed rock and roll.
He generally got along well with the alternate versions of himself that passed through the office, or whose offices he visited. They seemed almost universally friendly and polite, despite their diverging interests. He also got to meet many others who weren’t technically himself, but were merely the arts researcher of a particular version of team 5. There had been a couple of confusing times when an alternate Robin Ver had turned up but wasn’t the arts researcher or wasn’t part of team 5. This had led to the clarifying of company policy that alternates were to be assigned according to position rather than identity. It saddened Robin a bit when a version of himself arrived and he didn’t get the opportunity to work with them, but he often met up with them at lunch and they discussed their differences.
He preferred it when there were big differences between him and his alternates. Like the Robin Ver who’d married young and was stuck with a harpy of a wife and several unappreciative children (that one made him feel good about himself). Or the one who was openly gay and performed in a drag show on the weekends (He’d gotten a pass to head over and see him and it had been phenomenal, if you disregarded the incident at the end of the night were the very drunk alternate Robin had attempted to seduce him). He even had several CDs worth of music produced by alternate versions of himself. The lounge jazz album got the least spins on his stereo.

The trouble started in June. It was 2042 by now and Robin was 24. He’d been working at the library since he’d graduated at 21. The prospects had initially looked grim. He’d studied music and had sod all idea what he could do with that. That was until a Library representative had given a talk at his university. Graduates were exactly what they were looking for as the work was entirely research based. They even offered the chance to earn master’s degrees and PhDs for the work they would be doing. Robin had shrugged, remarked that it sounded “better than working in a bar” and filled out an application. He was thankful that most of the art students hadn’t bothered to attend the talk as he was sure that he wouldn’t have made it through with some of the competition they could provide.
The interviewers had assured him that despite his average grades, they were still very interested as they understood he didn’t do so well on practical assignments. It was his research skills they wanted and they were exemplary. His affinity for computers had also helped. They’d had him sit a few tests, mostly involving leaving him with a computer for a few hours and tasking him to produce an essay on a given subject. He’d far exceeded their expectations on the depth of his research and had been welcomed with open arms.
Robin had been working for The Library for almost three years when the trouble started.

It started in June. The 16th, to be exact. The day had started much as any other had. It was a Monday and the weather was pretty decent. The sun was technically shining, but was mostly obscured by clouds, so the day wasn’t as bright as it could be. There was a general feel of moistness to the air, as it had been raining in the night, but that had cleared up and there wasn’t even a hint of grayness to the clouds. It was the kind of day that some people describe as “fresh”. Robin wasn’t someone inclined to search too far for adjectives when it came to the weather, so he generally just went with “nice” if anyone brought it up.
Robin was late this morning. It was one of those days where the buses decided that a schedule was something other people keep to. He was passed by his bus to work when he was still about 100 metres from the actual stop. The bus wasn’t due for almost another ten minutes, but the driver seemed oblivious to such technicalities. Robin took a seat at the bus stop and resigned himself to a good 40 minute wait for the next one, which would get him into work about 15 minutes late.
By the time he got to his office, there was already two messages awaiting him. One informing him that an alternate version of himself had arrived and he was required to meet them. The other was a follow up to the first, informing him that the arrivals department were not happy and he should get up there sharpish before they just send the alternate back. He chucked his bag in his chair and headed back out of the office door towards the lift.

The arrivals department (and the departures department, but we’re not going there today) was housed in the basement of The Library, below the part open to the public (the actual library part). It was rather unimpressive the first time you went there. There was no large machinery with glowing consoles. No warp gates or other impressiveness that might serve as gateways to other realities. It was a room with a desk on the left that had a door next it and what appeared to be an elevator at the back of the room. The elevator was where alternates arrived. Inter-dimensional travel was controlled by One, so you really just needed to tell him where to send you. The elevator arrangement was just a sensible arrangement. It allowed people to communicate with One without actually meeting him and it allowed One to know exactly where they were and where they needed to be sent. When you needed to go somewhere, you got in, you pressed the button, and you said where you wanted to go. Then you waited. After a time, the button’s light would go out and there’d be a “bing” and the doors would open. There’d be someone waiting for you on the other side to sort you out.
Often you arrived in an alternate version of the library and everything would be nicely set up to deal with such things. Sometimes you’d be sent somewhere that didn’t have a library and there would have to be specialists sent in first to set up a temporary department to serve as a base of operations. They’d be working out of a porta-cabin or a commandeered part of whatever building stood on the site of the non-existent Library. Sometimes such a department couldn’t be set up and only the specialists would be able to go through. They’d take portable devices that enabled them to communicate with One and they’d had special training that allowed them to cope with being pulled from one dimension into another without the comfort of the unchanging elevator.

As ideas collide

The project was nearing completion. He stood before the great machine and marvelled at what had been nothing but blueprints and diagrams mere months before. The testing would begin soon and they’d work hard to make sure it worked well and behaved in a desirable manner. They really couldn’t afford to have made mistakes. He’d observed all the work so closely, but something could still have slipped through. A careless engineer who’d forgotten to tighten a screw. A slip of the measuring tape. Maybe even a typing error in the specifications. Such tiny things going wrong could cause such large problems. They were pushing the boundaries of the budget as it was. Testing would finish it off for good. If they didn’t have a workable product by the end of that, they were screwed. Even if it worked perfectly, they still had to find a buyer. If no one wanted their machine, this would all be for nothing. His dream would be worth nothing more than scrap metal. He might as well have invested in a burnt out car found on the side of the road. This needed to work. This needed to be perfect. This would make him rich.

I always wanted one of those

This is where things begin. Unfortunately, not with a big bang. Merely an annoying beeping being made by a rather old alarm clock. Unfortunately, it doesn’t have the retro cool of one of those ones with the flippy numbers. It’s an ageing digital one. No radio or other fancy adornments. It’s a clock that beeps at a set time; bought eight years ago and still going strong (though the beep is a bit wonky since being dropped after three of those years). The snooze button is hit for the first time today. It’s not technically time to get up yet. Getting up now would ensure a leisurely start to the day. He wouldn’t be late and he’d have time to actually find matching socks for once. But this is not to be. Those extra few minutes of sleep are much preferred to such trivial things. Not that he’ll actually get any more sleep. It’s hard enough for him to fall asleep in the evenings, let alone after being rudely awoken in the morning and reminded that it’s once again a workday. The alarm is going to beep again in ten minutes and he’ll consider getting up this time. The figure in the corner waits patiently for him to make a decision.

The girls that sway when you breathe

We fell asleep together. I had my arm around you and our fingers were intertwined. I couldn’t see the expression on your face, but I like to think that you were smiling. I like to imagine that this is where you wanted to be. It may be fanciful, but if every moment that we were together were anything like this, then maybe it could work. Maybe we could stay together and be happy. But I don’t think that’s going to happen, do you? I doubt we’ll find ourselves sharing many moments that come anywhere that’s even close to this kind of perceived perfection. We’ll mostly just argue and make each other feel like we’re worthless. That’s the way we are, it seems. We’re not perfect together. I’m not sure whether I should love that or hate it. I’m not sure what to feel about much of what goes on between me and you these days. Even now, as I lay here awake, wondering when you’ll wake up, I feel like it’s not right. I feel like maybe I don’t want you to wake up as it’s working so well right now. We get on so well when you’re sleeping. I’ll get the chloroform.

-Alice

Isn’t everyone just such a dramatist?

I’d been drinking for a while. My head was rocking from side to side as I tried to adjust my balance. It really wasn’t working. The rocking was keeping my head from just falling straight forwards and hitting my desk. If I concentrated hard enough, maybe I could be sober. Or at least more sober than I was. I didn’t feel like it though. Instead I preferred to sit back and feel the alcohol flow through my veins. Infecting and poisoning my body. I liked to imagine it running through my bloodstream. Coating the insides of my veins and trickling down into the capillaries. I was feeling the buzz. The supposed warmth that these toxins bring to our bodily systems. Isn’t it strange how poisoning ourselves feels so good? How this depressant can sometimes be all that cares for us. I pushed my fingers into the top of my desk, steadying myself. I let out some unidentified noise of relaxation. I could vaguely make out my reflection in the polished surface. I wasn’t sure how I looked though. It wasn’t that good a mirror. My reflection was brown-tinged and blurry. It could’ve been anyone, really. It really didn’t do justice to how fucking sexy I am.

-Alice

Everyone’s a little cog in my heart

How many do we have so far? I asked myself. How many more do we need? I looked at the piles before me and they seemed impossibly daunting. I’d made a start at least. That was out of the way, but the carrying on was going to be hell. Page after page full of numbers and letters in seemingly random sequences. I don’t know what they meant. I had no clue as to what these sequences could be intended for. For all I know, they could have meant nothing. They could be pointless and I’d been given this task just to keep me busy and away from important things. But then they could’ve meant everything. They could be the key to everything that goes on here and they’d been entrusted to me. I could make one tiny mistake and it would all go wrong. We’d be dead in the water because I’d missed a sheet. It seemed unlikely, but you never know. I contemplated making a deliberate mistake, just to see what would happen. Whether I’d come in tomorrow to find the place in chaos. I decided against it though. It seemed far more likely that I’d just be in some sort of trouble. Who needs that?

-Alice