In the Aftermath
By Chris Munroe
HR sent somebody by earlier this week, to quell office discontent.
Davidson? Donaldson? Something like that.
We keep his severed head on a stick now.
We put it there to send a message. We’re no longer an accounts receivable department worried about layoffs, we’re animals. Naked, filthy, claiming the sixth floor as our own, refusing to be moved.
If they send another beast, we’ll kill it.
We’ll smash its head.
We’ll spill its blood.
And I sit among my tribe, upon a throne that once was an office chair, surveying my people like a monarch.
The lord of the files.