A Glitch in the System

Me and My Life

I'm walking to work at the moment. It's a bleak old building, with a particularly menacing façade. Cobwebs infest every corner like a metastasizing cancer. The wooden door is extremely heavy, with sections splintering off. It creaks like a madman when you open it, and thankfully it's only officials that find themselves in that position.

I'm a low ranking member of the Authorities; not important enough to have any say in things, but important enough to be hated. I guess I'm like a modern-day Eminem, shunned from both sides. I'm permanently stuck in the middle and everything I do or say meets opposition.

Anyway, I struggled through the door and rushed off to my office. My office sits in the far wing of this decrepit building. It has one hole in the wall which displays the view of another grey building and maybe some sunlight – if I'm lucky. When I knocked the window out about four years ago I couldn't believe the difference it made to my office. You never realise how toxic some things are until you breathe fresher air.

I haven't ever seen my boss. Rumour has it that he – or maybe she – has never ventured outside of this building, and communicates via video calls only. But there's not many rumours around here now. Not in this building. I suspect my boss's room is in one of the underground floors because only the Higher-Ups are allowed to go there. It makes you wonder what's down there...

My office is cramped and filthy like a smoker's airways. It takes minutes to reach my computer, hours if you clean as you go. I should put my clothes away when I take them off, but I prefer to see them than the rotting carcasses of rats. Today's assignment sits on my desk. It's a small brown envelope, sealed with the badge of our society. Our badge shows two snakes eternally entwined. Beneath that, in a foreign language, it reads 'Torto gentem'. Only the boss knows its true meaning.

My assignment today is simple, because it never changes. 'Keep everyone happy', it reads. My supervisor tells me that this is the most important job of all, but let's face it, we probably all get told that.

I finish typing up the news and stumble across the room to the doorway. There was a door here until about three weeks ago, but then the boss told us that they're unnecessary. It's probably an invasion of privacy but I wouldn't dare tell that to anyone. Not if I want to keep my job. Besides, now the whole floor can smell my apartment.