Look Below

Prologue: Working Hard or Hardly Working

Eleven monitors down from hers the man clicked his pen. It was male human embodiment #3124445236759 from sector 67900012.
"Maybe today you'll get a break, #3124445236759!" He chuckles darkly, knowing we won't get a break. We never get a break. Our only rest is the mesley five hours of sleep they give us. I've been here years already but this is almost no different from the schools.
The warden presses a button on the printer to the right of male embodiment #3124445236759. Out flows the progress of the week. We need weekly checks or the economy will plummet or whatever marketing online facility we work for. I don't care anymore, and besides I don't think they ever gave us the name of their corporation.
Mr. Warden moved on, content with the results of male embodiment #3124445236759. The next computer withheld a small girl who was new to the facility, but has been here long enough and has overcome the other teens that were inferior to the system and was disposed to the "dumpster" along with unruly documents.
"And how are we doin' today, female embodiment #12134550091902?" A dual insult, how lovely. On her first day she had answered back at him, and he replied with slap to her face, giving her a slight slur; the only reason I had known was since she had cried squeakily and carried a mouthful of slurred words along the dormitories. Only the finest of mentors here at insert-name-here firm business establishment. He looks at her with an eagerness on his face and I could tell he waited to see if she would mess up.
I decide to not see the outcome of this debacle and glance at my screen. I take notice of how my hands don't need me anymore. They could easily write the long instructed commands they give for each day, since we first arrived here at age 13. In fact its better this way, atleast my dreams won't be clouded in numbers and whatever damnation of a place this is. I almost sigh but refrain myself; I must not attract attention or else I'll be penalized. I can not let myself be penalized. I have been here for nearly seven years, and I can be free so soon.
My day dreaming must have been longer than I expected as the Warden is only seven desktops away. I take a side glance and see female embodiment #3124445236759 has avoided any blows from the devil himself, but she looks like she's about to burst out in tears, despite the lack of bruising.
I decide to to withhold from my daily dreaming of me leaving here on the day of my birthday; which, I might add, is next week. I have an old antique camera in my herings that always made feel that I should take up photography.
Four human embodiments between her and the Warden. I start to think about who even came up the name warden. Such a vile word. We don't learn much about history but I know in America once upon a time ago, wardens looked after prison inmates. So if he's a warden, then we're prisoners? That makes me laugh on the inside. I guess our crime is being born into this dystopian universe controlled by whatever executives control the world.
The clocking is ticking slowly and he's going so fast. It seems as though he's checking us off by the second when in reality he's taking several to fifteen minutes. I look at my monitor again. I wonder how this even helps society. Are we a bunch of secretaries doing paperwork for the outside world? Humans who talk to us, and just assume that we are computers? I don't know, and I guess I really don't care. When I first arrived I can remember the exact same questions pour into my mind. If I'm thinking this all over again, is something going to happen? Does my mind know something is about to change?
I excuse the thought as the body mass full of evil approaches to only four monitors away. It's impossible really: nothing ever happens... except for the elimination of the weak and all the dead bodies. It happened at least weekly. If any of us prove to be dysfunctional, then we go into the 'trashcan'. Yes, it is called the trashcan, but some of us refer it as the garbage or even as the rubbish can.
Usually most who go in there are the failed newbies, but there is always a good amount of those who have been here awhile. That's what I assume any way. It's not like we can talk to each other, or even want to. I swear this program has made us socially retarded.
I look up again as the female embodiment next to me starts shaking. He is only a monitor away from her. I take a long side glance and realize she's new, or to my knowledge that is. Whatever happened to female embodiment #0097593211651? Last time I saw her was....Gof, I don't even know. A month? A week? Was it yesterday?
She's still shaking, and now I want to shake her. Slap her even, and tell her stop. He can smell fear and this is not helping. She catches me glaring daggers at her and immediately stops. Good timing too, he just finished up with male embodiment #2202166598347 and is moving onto her. She might hate me or is scared of me, but I know she'll thank me later.
"Excited to see your results? Cause I know I am!" He presses the button on the printer and the statistics from her work of all this week prints out. He takes his time checking things off on her report. At first he was smug but that was quickly replaced with disgust as he continued. He always does that with the newbies. He's twisted like that, he always wants us to fail and takes the most sickest pleasure from it.
Another ten minutes and grumbles out a low 'Good job....' and finally moves on to me. I'm anxious as always, even more so now than a year ago. I can not mess this up. The spike of anticipation causes me to type faster.
"Working hard, or hardly working?" He says as his sly grin is back again. Each person is a new opportunity; will they mess up or are they safe? Besides even if they are safe its only temporary.
He presses the button on my printer and I ignore him. This will be the last time I have to face him, then I'll be home free.
"Well, well. well...." Out of the corner of my eye I see a flash of silver. I think 'No, this can't be happening to me, I'm-I'm so close!' I type the fastest I ever had before, desperate to show this weasel that I'm still useful, that they don't need to throw me away. Gof sakes I am a human, why is this happening to me? To be raised up in hope and crushed under desperation; no one should have to face that.
I feel a prick in my neck and my vision blurs. No one is looking in my direction. No one cares. They are too scared and weak, but I guess I'm just the same way. They don't want to die. and I don't want to either. My life doesn't flash across my eyes because I don't have anyone, and no one to care for. I slump against the desk and have my one, final thought. A realization in my dying moment.
"They never let us go...."