Press One For: This is Not a Mechanical Problem

Thanks for all the recent Facebook shares. I had to divulge some pretty heavy news yesterday, and it's nice to get some love. Much love, internets. Much love.

Apparently, or so goes the recent news, Steve is getting a little pissy about being stuck in the elevator shaft. Someone heard a groaning noise which they assumed was mechanical. So what do they do? Why, they send up a mechanic, of course.

He came into this place a man. He left this place a monster. (To return shortly, possibly repeatedly, and leave neverafter.)

But that could probably be said about anyone that comes into this place, whether they get zombified or not. This place has a way of disfiguring the soul. At a certain point, even murdering babies sounds like a perfectly acceptable way to pass the time. That should give some indication of how horrible this place is. If you have a choice between living in a cardboard box or working here, choose the box. For God's sake, choose the frakking box.

Wouldn't it be a strange twist of fate if it turned out that this whole zombie thing was the result, not of some virus, but of working here for too long? I guess that doesn't really take into account the "turning into a zombie when you get bit" thing. But it is true that the longer you work here, the more likely you are to turn into a zombie. That's elementary (mathematics), my dear Watson.

Which segues poorly into a conversation I was having about the virus. Do you think there are different mutations of the virus? I mean, relatively speaking, these zombies are pretty docile. They'll still bite your face off, but they'll do it docilely. Do you think there is, or could be, a strain of the virus that makes 28 Days Later zombies? That would be a little frightening. Just kidding. That would be a lot frightening.

X

Is there a docile way to bite someone's face off? I mean, seriously, how did we have oxymorons before zombies? Living dead. Docile face-biting. You can't make this stuff up.

I'd like to say it's not possible, but given what I know about viruses and their abilities to mutate haphazardly, I have to accept that possibility. Really, we all do. This "phenomenon" may be isolated right now, but it's only a matter of time before it gets out into the world proper. Once it's free, there's no telling what the virus will do.

Maybe I should kill Steve.

I know that's kind of random, but do you think I should? You know, the whole "put him out of his misery" and "protect the innocent" arguments.

Maybe I should just burn this place to the ground.

Or maybe not.

The thought alone gets me through the day. Freedom.

X

Because quitting wouldn't be freedom enough? Well, I suppose not. This place injects itself into your very dreams and haunts you like rabid hellspawn. Burning it probably would be the only way to rid yourself of it.

Reminds me of a story I read once back when I was working on the lit magazine. Guy's ex-girlfriend ends up with his dogs, his cabin in the woods--his dream life, basically. She calls him out to protect her during a thunderstorm because she's "too city" to take care of herself out there in the woods. When she takes her friend into town to go to the hospital, the guy has an epiphany, rakes the fire out onto the floor, goes outside, sits in a lawn chair beside his dogs, and watches the cabin burn. How's that for resolution to a relationship, huh?

Meh. If only fire really were that purifying.

I think I'll kill Steve. So, uh, yeah. I suppose I'll have the details of that for you tomorrow.

~M