Fiction Fix Eleven

Zasada | The Retention Device
a palm tree. The silver bolts weren't there long. Two of the giant squirrels,
the new kind, materialized from the shadows behind a parked bulldozer.
They were chattering away to one another in that raspy manner these new
squirrels had, like three-pack-a-day smokers. They raced out, grabbed the
bolts in their paws, and sat there for a moment in the warm sun, spinning
them around and sniffing them. A mother walking with a stroller stopped
when she saw them, and carefully turned the stroller around. I didn't blame
her. I'd seen the stories on the news about the squirrels too. They were as big
as cats; some were even bigger.
2.
Somehow, in spite of my headache, and in spite of the tremendous
crashing and pounding that reverberated from the construction site next
door, I managed to write two reports that morning. They were both analyses
on the market position of two different divisions of the Company. In both
cases the competition was fierce, margins low, and prospects dim. I had no
recommendations at this point other than to cut costs.
Working for a corporation was certainly nothing like I thought it
would be. I expected working light bulbs, carpets that didn’t smell like mold,
and to have my desk’s drawers close correctly. I had none of these things. I
did have a paycheck.
When I’d started working there, everything seemed strange, apathetic;
it was an innocuous chaos: from the flickering bulbs and the forms
to the sad stacks of outdated technology in the dark basement. But a mere
three months later, it was becoming normal. Just that morning I didn’t even
stop to think before I rattled the door to the office supplies closet so the
rats knew I was coming.
They say they are all like this now. You would never know these
were separate companies once. They all contracted one another’s goals and
vision statements now, like communicable colds back and forth. They all use
the same ads, but just swap out the words—it’s futile anyway. Trust me; no
one pays attention to advertising anymore, its allure tarnished by outdated
ubiquitous banality.
I'd only been working there for three months, and while I knew
there was a pharmacy somewhere inside the skyscraper because Miles had
told me so, I had no idea where it was. I tried to ping Miles three times but
never got an answer. No matter how much I kept swiping back to my instant
messaging app and staring at that screen, all I saw was my cursor blinking at
me softly.
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