Toyinfestation

9 - Phosphorescent Glow

Author's Note - 

Hey, hi. Remember to comment :) 

NRW = Not Real Word

***********************************************************************************************************

I expected Uncle Ben to give me a tour of the factory. After all, he did say he would 'escort' me. I mean, whenever he started talking about the factory it was always hard to stop him. But all he did was show me to a small cubicle at the corner of the third storey office. He also got a little worked up when I tried to press the lift buttons.

He gave me instructions and just left. I was to be an assistant to his secretary, Tom. I was to bring in coffee for Uncle Ben, Tom and Mr Dawson from the next morning onwards. Tom would brief on my work and that's it. No packaging toys, no assembling them - heck no seeing them either. My internship was another boring desk job and I was kind of glad. Tom didn't give me much work, probably because I was new and maybe because he thought I wouldn't do well enough. After briefing me, he left me alone.

I skimmed through the documents that Tom had placed on my table for me to review. They were very basic things like checking if the company balance sheet was okay, re-plotting the profit-loss graphs. I was half-way through when Anaesthesia started talking. I had been pretty engrossed in my work. Hearing a voice coming out of my bag gave me a fright at first. For one dreadful moment, I thought bags had started coming alive around me as well and that everything else would follow suit. That soon I would be surrounded be talking object and I would be locked up in a small white cell in a mental institution.

 Then I looked at my bag's front pocket's front zipper was open and Anaesthesia was peeking through it. She had been watching everything all along. No wonder she had been laughing so hard over the 'Claire' incident. I unzipped the front pocket and took her out. I put her in a half open drawer. That Dawson was around, better be careful.

She looked up at me, "Why the lowest drawer?"

"It makes no difference; you're still going to have to look up at me."

I got back to the stack of papers on my desk. Uncle Ben sure outsourced a lot. They just assembled stuff and handled the advertising here.

"Tony, were you listening to what I was saying? Tony?!"

"What? No. I take work seriously. What were you saying?"

Anaesthesia glared at me, "Nothing. Nothing at all...Why didn't your Uncle give you a tour of the factory?" She raised one pointed eyebrow. She really was a walking, real live cartoon.

"Because I'm not here on a field trip."

"Don't you find it suspicious? Trac said you always say your Uncle talked way too much about the factory or new models of toys. Wasn't his welcome a little too professional and suspiciously brusque?" She looked really smug.

"Like I said, I'm here to work. Besides, I don't like being around toys."

"But he doesn't know that. He even avoided the topic when you brought it up. You have reason to suspect your uncle." Anaesthesia crossed her arms.

She didn't know a thing about my Uncle.

"What do you know about my uncle, huh? You are stupid toy made of nothing but plastic."

Anaesthesia's mouth clamped shut.

What the hell was she trying to imply? I built my first sandcastle with Uncle Ben. I used to have only one friend in kindergarten and some of primary school- and he was that fat, weird kid. You know what happens when you're the fat, weird kid's skinny, wimpy best friend. People, especially other little kids also known as bullies go all out to make your life miserable. As miserable as it could get in primary school anyway. Uncle Ben was the guy who realized what was happening (he used to live with us back then). Then the pushes turned into shoving face-first into mud. When I started coming home with numerous bruises and the occasional bleeding mouth or nose - Uncle Ben went to school everyday to pick me up. He was the one who convinced mom that karate would be more useful than learning how to play the violin.

When my parents forced me through enrichment classes when I was six, he was always there at the end of the day to cheer me up. He convinced my parents out of homeschooling and stopped me from skipping three grades - because if I did I would very very friendless. He always brought a lollipop or candy floss whenever I fulfilled one of my parent's ridiculous dreams.

Then there was Trac with his goofy voice mimicking thing and his one-man, sorry, one-crane show thing.

If everything Anaesthesia and Trac had said was true, my comment might have hurt her. Trapped as a plastic, helpless thing - anyone would be, and I knew all about being trapped (or imprisoned in sense).

I left Anaesthesia in the drawer for the rest of the day. My first day at the toy factory wasn't that bad, I only saw Mr Dawson once and we didn't have a conversation. I used to have nightmares about the toy factory but this was just a grey, boring non-dream.

I took out Anaesthesia from the drawer before I left. She just looked at me with a stony (or should I say plastic?) expression.

"I sorry about the toy comment, but I'm telling you my Uncle has nothing to do with your problems."

Anaesthesia shrugged and nodded.

"So, why are we here?"

"To sneak into your uncle's personal office and get information on his past employees and those models of toys you have."

"Sneak in? That's your plan? What is this, a teen horror flick?"

"You have a better plan?" She sat down on my palm and crossed her arms.

"Yes, much simpler and easier. Not to mention much less suspicious."

She sat there with her arms crossed, wordless, so I continued.

"I'll just gain access to Tom's computer. He's already let me transfer some files today and he doesn't really care much when I use his computer. But why would you want to know about his past employees

?"

"I...just do it. It won't cost you anything."

When I gave her a what-the-hell-look she just stared plasticly back at me.

"If you don't help us no one can, and we - Eugene, my sister, my mother and me, we will never get our lives back."

She was playing the guilt card. Oh whatever.

"Okay, whatever, don't feed me cliché lines."

I slipped her into my bag and clogged out. Uncle Ben nodded at me and half-waved as I left.

Claire looked away as I walked past her out of the door. Jesse, our personal hired driver, was waiting for me in the car park. It was pretty dark by then and the ceramic toy designs, I thought they were ceramic anyway, looked like they were glowing.

Jesse cleared his throat, "Spooky, aren't they?"

"And interesting," I replied.

"Its just phosphorescent paint, though."

"Yeah, it is." I smiled, relieved.

Little did I know what it actually was, little did I l know.