Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-32461413-20170716232641

I have here my first draft for this story that I have been working on. Yes, this is a very early version so it is probably riddled with errors I need to work out. I hope to eventually publish this piece on the Wiki so some honest feeback will be very helpful.

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My Office Job



You know what they say? When you're a child, your parents tell you that you can be whatever you want to be when you grow up. We've all been through this before; as children we want to be the next NFL quarterback, or the next Brad Pitt. However, as we are conditioned through school, all those hopes and aspirations simply dissolve away into nothingness like a sugar cube in a cup of lemon tea. The young youthful energy and motivation is farmed by corporate business essentially turning society into nothing but puppets with their strings played by “lucky one's” who were able to get ahead due to their fat father's wallet raising their status in society. How do you go from dreaming of being on top of the world to working your ass off for a degree in accounting?



In school, I was never the best student. I was always considered more intelligent than my peers, but my pure apathy always took over. I remember my parent's concerned faces when confronted by my seemingly 500 pound math teacher during student conferences. His jowels flapping uncontrollably as his plump lips spewed out the words “you're son has potential, he just doesn't use it.” I never tried in school. What was the point? My parents first met during graduation as one was the valedictorian and the other was the salutatorian. Where did they end up? Working some mundane, life sucking office job. I knew no matter what I would end up doing something I didn't care about, just like them. Sure I could have developed some amazing talent to bring me to stardom, but why bother? You're discouraged from following your passions anyways once you figure out that 99% fall short of actually going through with them.



1989 rolled around. As I headed out of my putrid hell of school with my diploma in my grubby hand. I was set. Set to do absolutely nothing with my life that is. While the masses skewed around me strutted out with high hopes, viewing their puny slip of paper as some kind of monumental achievement to set them for life, I stood there stone faced. I was ready to get on with the rest of my life. What's the point of celebrating when I knew I would be working with just about all of these people? The lucky one's dropped out, but my parents would never let me do that; “pollutes the gene pool,” as my dear father would say. I have a rather pessimistic view on life, but hey, I wouldn't think this way if it weren't the truth. Just look around you; it's true whether you like it or not.



You would be surprised to know that I actually married in life. I even had some children as well. A couple years after high school ended, I married my sweetheart who is just as sadistic as I am. I worked a few odd jobs just to tie things over. A couple times we had to flee our apartment because either we couldn't scrape enough dough to get by, or that we found out our landlord was a sex offender spying on my wife. Low income apartments just weren't doing it for us. With children on the way to be born into this disgrace of a planet, we needed a better living situation. The two of us working endless nights delivering pizzas or driving some drunk beer bellies home just wasn't cutting it. We needed better jobs. Thus started our job searching journey.



After countless searching, my wife was able to snatch up a “decent” job. Pay was acceptable, good benefits, what more could you ask for? The problem though is that I couldn't work there. The place was filled with stubborn balding men who would only give up their job once they dropped dead. With her in a decent place of employment, I had to remain searching for one of my own. It wasn't easy. It took quite a bit of internet searching and snagging up every newspaper I could get my hands on to do it, but I found one. Yes, I was finicky in my searches; I just didn't want to spend my days growing old while plunging some greasy bald man's toilet. Decent jobs are hard to find without an expensive and worthless piece of paper with a college's name printed on the top. Nonetheless, I found one. It was a customer service job at some oversized office building on the outskirts of town. It wasn't pretty, it certainly wasn't fun, but, it offered some great pay. So I applied and was asked for an interview.

After some long and mind-numbingly boring weeks later, I was allowed to get the job. All I had to do, was just sign my life away. Satisfied, I was able to rest peacefully knowing that between my wife and myself, we would finally be able to move into an actual house together.



Ah, my first day on the job. Endless, endless training. I chuckled to myself as the person training me in was our school's valedictorian. That 4.0 GPA really served him well. Something was odd about him however. He was one of those boisterous fellows that you couldn't shut up for one minute. Quite an annoying person when you think about it. He was full of life, energy, and optimism; someone that was deemed “full of potential.” In fact, he was voted most likely to succeed in high school. Now here he was, working in some dreadful office. As I mentioned, something was off about him. He spoke little and when he did, it was monotonous and actually put you to sleep. He was the exact opposite of what he was when I knew him. At the time, I didn't think too much of it. The daily grind, am I right? The first day on the job was quite possibly the worst day of my entire existence, but hey, only uphill from there. Boy was I wrong.



To be honest, I had never heard of this company before in my life. Other people apparently have though. Everyday and all day was nothing but call after call. These people would ask questions so dumb that I pondered violently throwing myself out the window. Did I mention it was endless? I spent most of the day with my eyes locked onto the clock. My dreary lookers staring at the pathetic hands slowly creeping around. It was almost like they moved at such slow speeds just to spite me. Work was only 9-5, but it felt like it was an eternity. This was nothing like I felt before. The weight of the burden was enough to completely throw out my back and the strain started turning my hairs gray in only ten years. Yeah, a whole decade of doing this. Ten years of me practically ripping my hair out trying to service the morons who didn't have the brains to think for themselves. They seriously had to go out of their way, using their shaky and withering hands to helplessly dial my sad soul up to ask a question that made me pray for my death.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">The strain was unusual. I worked many odd jobs before, but none quite as stressful as this. Yes, this was, in fact, more straining than working as a summer camp counselor dealing with snotty, bratty kids. This was much different than that. My wife noticed significant changes in me as well. I was twenty eight years old and I looked like I was in my fifties. I would go walking with my family and people would ask if I was the grandfather. Man, the weird looks I got when I said I was the father. They would look at my young and healthy wife and compare her to me; a crusty old withered man. At the time, I didn't think too much about this. I figured this job was no more stressful than any other office work of this caliber. I also blamed genetics; my parents got old and crotchety fast. I talked with my doctor but he didn't have any explanation. I just figured, it was perfectly normal and just my parent's horrible elderly genes.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I had breaks like anyone else. However, I would end up getting out of that hole of sadness whenever I had the opportunity. It wasn't until one day where I decided to stick around just for shits and giggles. Looking into the endless sea of cubicles, I never realized before just how old my coworkers looked. That 4.0 guy that trained me in? Yeah, he looked like a grandfather too. Had the personality of one as well. Quite a few of my classmates worked here and I noticed the same thing with them. Something seemed a bit odd to me now. My decaying mind worked its hardest to piece together this phenomenon. Granted that myself and my former classmates were almost thirty, none of us looked it. I get that this is a stressful job but then again, my wife complained more than I do about her job. She looked better than ever, and her coworkers as well (the younger ones at least). In fact, I've never seen a single classmate outside of this office that looked quite like us. How have I not noticed this before? I guess I never really thought about it until that moment, but when I did, I needed a seat.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I sat alone in the break room. It was desolate. I could hear furious sounds of typing coming from the cubicle area as well as countless phone calls. The break room was in need of a little love. The windows were cracked from stupid birds smacking into it killing themselves. The horrendous fluorescent lights were flickering on the brink of croaking. Paper cups spilled on the floor underneath the 10 gallon water dispenser. This place was quite literally a dump. No wonder why no one uses it. I sipped away on my tiny dixie cup of water. I just thought. It wasn't until my cheap little wristwatch beeped at me that break was over that I broke out of this deep state of pondering. With the frustration that I had to go back to work, I hurled the pathetic paper cup to the trash can, missing by a few inches. Deciding that I should have some decency, I went to retrieve it and properly dispose of it in the filthy puke green bin. Right as I plopped it in however, I noticed a crumpled piece of paper. It wouldn't have sparked my attention if it weren't for the fact that the phrase “no end in sight” was chicken scratched on it. This clearly wasn't a normal business letter as that phrase served no purpose in our line of work. It looked old as well. In fact, everything in the trash was yellowing as if it hadn't been emptied in years. Out of curiosity, I ruined whatever scrap of dignity I had left by digging in the garbage to read what probably was just something out of context.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">To my surprise, it wasn't. I could tell that the person was writing fairly fast as the handwriting was comparable to a second grade drop out in a speed writing contest; it was hard to read. I almost wonder if the person was trying to be secretive about it. The letter itself appeared to be a note to someone else. It was essentially a sappy love letter, except, the most important part of it was the ending. Just when I was wondering why the person took time out of his miserable existence to write this, I found the answer. The bottom read along the lines of “there is no end sight, I'm stuck in the job for the rest of my life.” It didn't seem too bad, I felt the same way, however as I continued reading it read “I'm probably going to be purged for saying this, but just know that this office literally sucks the life out of you. It needs to be shut down fast, but our hands our tied. If any of us say anything, we are disposed of.” The letter then proceeded to move onto a tangent about how much he loves this woman and that he will miss her.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">What was the point of this letter? Why was it in the trash and not mailed out? Who was this person? Thoughts swirled in my mind unanswered. I examined the piece of pulp further to see if there was any information of this man. On the back was a stamped address which I presume to be where his wife had lived. Judging by the age the letter appeared to be, it was most likely in there for years and no one has bothered to take out the trash in that time. Maybe it was a good thing that no one uses that break room, otherwise, I wouldn't have found a gem like that. As I was day dreaming, my watch still buzzing at me, I heard a pitter patter. Of course, for the first time ever, some fatass decides to waddle on in for a mediocre cup of Joe to swill down his gullet. I panicked and shoved the letter back into the trash just as he entered. God, I must have looked like an idiot. Here I am kneeling on the floor like I'm proposing to my imaginary friend Betty, staring into a trash can like a looney. My coworker didn't question it though. He was so brain dead that I could have been a dancing raccoon doing back flips and he wouldn't bat a heavy eye. I left the letter. I figured that judging by how the trash was never emptied, it would be there when I need it. Besides, I got the most important information at the end anyways.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I went back to work feeling an emotion other than being bored to tears. I decided when I finally got home that I would look up the address in the phone book. It took a bit of searching, but since we had lived in a relatively small town, it wasn't too hard to find. The name of the residency was Jill Holgen. It would have been awkward to call her asking about her husband. For all I know, she could have been a new neighbor. I decided that it would be in my interest to confirm that it was her husband before I take any action. But it was the weekend, so I would hold everything aside and try to drink my worries away.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">That Monday, I hammered away at the usual work load before break time finally poked its head around. I slithered into the break room to claim it before anyone else. Sure enough, the letter was still there in its crumpled glory. Feeling a bit groggy from the daily grind, I caved into the temptation of drinking that worthless coffee farmed by poor children roped into slavery in another country. As my cup was brewing, there sat a thick dusty book from a few years ago. It was a yearbook with everyone in the office included in it. How drab. But an idea sparked in my mind, Holgen is a last name that I had never heard of before; chances are that it is not that common. I decided that I could maybe find someone by that name to figure out if there is any relation to Jill. The book was almost as endless as the job itself. Page after page of people wearing white dress shirts and tie with the look of burden on their faces. Ah, the nostalgia of the first week of work. In fact, my picture was in there as well. After my little tangent, I got down to business and flipped right to the H's. I swear that just about every last name in existence is in this book. As I scanned the sea of fugly faces, getting closer and closer to the name Holgen, I was stopped. Right between the last name Holden and Hollen, was a picture and a name covered in what appeared to be white out. Why? I half-assedly scanned the rest of the book and found that other people were blanked out as well. I stared blankly at what possibly was Holgen's face. I needed to scrape it off to be sure. Who was this person? Could it actually be the husband of Jill Holgen? Or was it some flatfoot who had a name that happened to fall between Holden and Hollen? I hurriedly searched the room like a drug dog for something that could scrape off the correctional fluid. To my luck, I found a putty knife used by the janitor to scrape the gum off of the desks. Yes, even grown adults still do that. I carefully scratched away at the film and revealed the name Jack Holgen.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">At this point I felt uneasy. What happened to him? Perhaps I was being illogical. He probably quit in the last few years and was going through a divorce and his letter was a metaphor. No matter what I tried to convince myself, I still felt uneasy. But, alas, my break was over. It was time to get back to answering calls about the most trivial problems.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I must be the dumbest person to ever exist. I realized once I got back to my desk that I had forgotten to grab the letter out of the trash. I was planning on dropping it off in his wife's mailbox that night. I wasn't be able to stop back in the break room until the next day because the assistant manager watched us like slimy eyed fatso in a pie shop. We were only allowed in there on break, no exceptions. Not even if you forgot your pen in there. I suppose it was years of misbehaving employees goofing off like jackasses which caused this rule, but nonetheless, I had to abide by it. While I silently screamed in my desk getting ready to pow the next person I see in the face, I learned to calm down. I simply would wait the next day.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">As the day rolled to a close, I was packing up my sorry ass to go home and relax up until the next day where the same thing would happen. Before I could leave, I was stopped by the assistant manager. He was about as ugly as a person could be. He explained to me that throughout my decade of working at this shit hole wasting my life away, that I earned a promotion. Yippee. Nope, not a much needed vacation, but a promotion. God, I couldn't even remember the last time I went on a trip. I so badly wished that he would say that I could have traveled to the Bahamas. But no, a promotion, with a catch.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">Our company worked in weird ways. To take this promotion, I would have to prove that I was worthy of it. To be deemed “the chosen one,” I would have to temporarily spend both day and night on the upper floors of the building. Some sort of initiation to prove that we could handle a heavier workload. Now, I worked here for a decade and I would rather scrub the toilets with my own toothbrush than to spend another minute taking calls. “The promotion initiation”as it was called, was a two week period of non stop work. We would be evaluated based on performance through the lengthy list of menial tasks. As I mentioned, it was both night and day, so it essentially was a giant slumber party for adults but with work. The pay was an improvement from before and if I was able to prove myself and earn the promotion, I would be paid better and do less horrible work. So two weeks of nonstop work? Bring it on. Sure the promotion would still be a sucky job, but at least I will be paid more. The last day of the two week period was a full 24 hour break in the office while the higher ups debated who would earn the promotion. I told my wife about the deal and she was ecstatic. With the extra cash, we could afford luxuries that we never could have before. My kids could finally get that pool that they wanted and we could all enjoy our summers swimming together. It was the first time I actually felt optimistic about something. The thought of coming home after a long day and just floating on my back with the kids wrestling around the yard and my wife chatting up the neighbor sounded pleasant to me. I took the offer willingly and told my kids that I would be gone for a bit, but when I came back, they would have a new pool. My family hugged me as I packed a suitcase for the next two weeks.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">The initiation period began promptly. In fact, it was the very next day. I would be on a completely different floor of the building that whole time, so there goes any possibility of retrieving that letter. Besides, I wasn't allowed to leave the assigned area anyways. I was stuck in a room with about fourteen other guys. All were homely as hell and just about as withered as I was. My guess was that these people started working around the same time I did. None of us said a word. We all stood around stiffly and awkwardly waiting for someone to come in and give us our tasks.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">During this time, I began to think about the letter. What did Jack mean by purging? He said that he would be purged if anyone knew what he was scribbling. I was curious on his story. What happened to him and where is he now? I was interrupted by the manager barreling down the hall. He actually looked nicer than all us. While all of us were our thirties balding and our hair graying, he was about forty and looked great. He wore a nicer business suit in contrast with our dress shirts and tie. He also had a full head of natural black hair. He talked boldly and confidently, far different from our increasingly shrill voices.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">Voice. That was another change I was experiencing. My previously deep and dramatic voice became more shrill and with warble. It wasn't just me either, it was everyone I worked with. Almost sheepish in a way.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">The man himself was not actually that interesting. We were again stuck doing horrible busy work. We took calls, filed papers away, cleaned, painted, the whole nine yards. We were fed disgusting food that reminded me of my school days. We barely slept, but throughout the whole process, the thought of new luxuries was all the motivation I needed.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I was always quicker than most of the people around me. While I figured out the tasks pretty easily and completed them in a timely fashion, everyone else scrambled like a headless chicken without a clue what was going on. Not everyone could handle the pressure. Within the first week, three people were removed. The second week, more. What was interesting though, was the fact that these people were ushered out through a different door than the one we entered. They would be accompanied by the manager as well as some buff and shady looking fellows. The room they entered had a solid metal door with the cracks around it sealed up. At first I didn't think too much of it, but the more I was able to look at the metal door, I felt curious. What was in there? Why was it sealed up? Where were these people going?

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">Another interesting point I noticed was the people who ended up in there. We had many who sucked at what they were doing, but they weren't the one's escorted out. The people who were leaving were the outspoken ones. I guess the constant pressure cracked some people to curse out against their superior. I would have loved to do the same, but the idea of a pool fixed me. I began to wonder about Jack again. Throughout the work, I couldn't keep him off my mind. I began to wonder if he somehow was in the same place I was. I had the horrible thought that he could have been one of the people escorted out and possibly destroyed; those people seemed to share the same feelings about work as he did. Again, I was being irrational but, I wanted to find out what happened to these folks who were deemed unworthy.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">As the two weeks drew closer to an end, we had about half of the fourteen left. My curiosity had driven me to try and find out what is going on with the workers who were expelled. Mark, who was one of the guys with us grew closer and closer to his breaking point. All he had to do was just explode and I could just so happen to be sweeping over by the mysterious metal doors. The task list was posted on the door we came in from. It had a list of jobs that someone would just sign off on. I took it that Mark wanted something easier so he was going for sweeping duty. I was the asshole that swooped in there just before him and snatched it up. That was enough to break him. He bitched and moaned that this employment was never-ending work and that the superiors should go fuck themselves. I had never heard someone so livid in my lifetime. It was a matter of moments before the babbling idiot would be escorted away. I grabbed the broom and scurried over to where the metal doors were and began sweeping furiously as the manager and his patsies strolled in.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">The only piece of technology we had were palm pilot personal digital assistants and headphones. They were given to us with some pre-installed music to tie us over while we work. I hurriedly packed the headphones over my ears and got back to sweeping with my back facing towards the doors. Sure enough, the manager ushered Mark over to where I was. As they entered the door, I glanced out of the corner of my eye to see what they were doing. I could see in the distance what looked to be a factory. I had worked an odd job in a slaughterhouse and what I seen behind me was identical to that. I only caught a glimpse as the door slammed shut and sealed. I crept over to the now closed doors to see if I could hear anything.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">Nothing. In one swift motion I clawed my shoelaces to become undone. I would make it seem like I was simply tying my shoes so no one would be suspicious. I leaned my ear against the door as I slowly formed the knots in my laces and I could ever so faintly hear what was happening inside. I heard some yelling, then what sounded like a chainsaw. A similar sound to the meat grinder that I heard back in my slaughterhouse days.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">No way. No, it must have been coincidence. My mind instantly jumped to conclusions. How would a company like this get away with murder? The police would investigate and bust this place down. Again, I realized I was being irrational, at the same time however, I was completely convinced that Mark was nothing more than ground meat. I was petrified, but I couldn't let that show. I continued sweeping and carrying out my tasks. Good thing this was almost over.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">The final day arrived. We were given a 24 hour break period to do whatever we wanted. We were given the luxury to leave the godforsaken initiation floor and explore just about every area in the whole building. Granted, some rooms such as administrator offices as well as others were forbidden. This includes the factory room. However, I now could freely go into the break room with Jack Holgen's letter. The reason we were given this luxury for exploration was because we would be promoted to more authority driven positions that required us to know how to get around. Essentially a DIY tour. I had never been higher than the second floor of this massive building so I needed to get acquainted. I spent all day wandering around, checking in and out of the various seas of cubicles to find nothing worth noting. I was simply killing time until everyone went home and I could spend the night in the break room. At least that room had a comfy computer chair instead of sleeping on the floor like these last two weeks.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I eventually made my way down to the break room. I looked in the trash and sure enough I seen the letter. Hadn't moved one inch from where I left it. I was about to read it over again when to my dismay, the handsome manager popped in the room. I practically leaped out of my skin but instinctively dropped the letter back in and dove down to tie my shoes that had become undone throughout the course of the day. Luckily he didn't notice my coverup. He gave me an odd look and without saying a word, plopped a brand new yearbook right on top of the old dusty one. He acknowledged my existence with a simple nod and headed out. I scampered over to the year book and flipped through. I found my mug in there of course. I looked for Jack Holgen but he wasn't in there of course. I mean, his face was blanked previously out so why keep printing him in right? I then thought of Mark. I flickered through the pages searching for him like a parent through their son's web history and found him. Or, what used to be him. His picture and name had a fresh layer of whiteout. I set the book down while rubbing my eyes. I also noticed that the older yearbook was in a different position than when I had first read it. I looked through there and found that his face was blanked out in that one as well. Now I was pissed. I tossed down both books and went back to the trash.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">There were many crumpled up pieces of paper in it. I was curious to know if there were more letters like Jack's. I grabbed one that was yellowing on the sides. Nothing, it was just a discarded copy of something unimportant. I opened up another piece. Same thing. I dug in even deeper and pulled out a third piece of paper. To my luck, it was another letter. Eerily similar to Jack's. It was addressed to someone and had many of the key points that were seen in Jack's. Endless work, purging, etc. Why was this here? So many questions filled my mind. There was a name included which was of course blanked out in the yearbook. Upon fishing around further, I found several others. Same story, yet no definitive answers.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">This office has more than one break room. I decided I should investigate and figure out if the other break rooms are like this. I explored one on each floor and found the same thing. Why? That was the question that kept nagging at me. What really got me though, was the trash can on the initiation floor. I examined that one and found it completely empty except for one note. This one was from Mark.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">His note was considerably shorter than most people's. Mark was a dumb ass so he didn't provide me any sort of answer. He just wrote a note trolling whoever read it. Telling them to go die in a hole or something stupid like that and that he probably was going die just like everyone else. How did he know? Maybe he wasn't as dumb as I thought. Perhaps he also noticed the letters. I decided to go back to the one break room where I had first discovered the letter from Jack. I again fished around reading all of the letters I could find. None of them offered any sort of resolution. I was considering going to the next floor when I finally found one by someone with a little bit of intellect.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">This guy was much more thorough. He described how he was writing his letter on the last day of initiation and how he noticed the disappearance of several coworkers. He made note that everyone who finishes initiation doesn't actually get a promotion. Then he proceeded to beg for help that never arrived. That letter was actually helpful. I looked for another one, I found one that too offered some help. There is a God. I examined it and realized it was by my school's valedictorian. He stated that he wrote the letter for whomever would find it and that it was most likely the last anyone would ever hear from him. He stated how he would rebel against the bosses and he would rather die than be subjected to whatever was going to happen next. I was puzzled by this. You see, just about a month ago, my wife brought in a newspaper with his obituary on it. It stated he died from natural causes! But his letter is a sign that he was murdered.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">Things started to make more sense now. My guess was that these people were the few that were able to find out that something horribly wrong was happening. Perhaps they had done as myself and listened to the meat grinder. But they also seem to know what happens next. I didn't.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I knew I needed to explore more. There must have been something that I was missing. I went back up to where initiation took place and scanned the room. Nothing. Disappointed, I made my trek back down stairs. As I was about halfway down the first flight, I realized there may be something on the lower levels of the building. Perhaps there was another room somewhere else. I slowly walked around the floor beneath. There happened to be another metal door. This time it was open.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">It was about four in the morning so all of my colleagues were passed out somewhere in the building, but for some reason, a metal door was left unattended. There were two sets of doors. Luckily both were open. I eerily creeped around the corner. The smell was awful and that of manure. I heard what sounded like farm animals, sheep to be specific. I peered around the corner and observed endless pens with nothing but fluffy white sheep. I was about to make my way in further when I heard a door slam in the distance. Whomever was checking on the animals must have been dropping a shit and is now returning. I made a mad dash through both sets of door and took cover in the closest cubicle. A tall and slow figure made his way into the pens completely oblivious. He was probably too caught up in his own mind to even guess that someone else was in the room.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I listened to him enter the room over the sound of my heart pounding. I heard the sound of a cage being opened and the sound of pattering feet and baaing. The man quickly turned around to shut the two sets of doors behind him. Now that the coast was clear, I was able to listen through the doors. Luckily these weren't as sound proof as the factory. I could vaguely hear the sound of an elevator moving upwards. As I was crouched on the ground, I felt a folded sheet of paper slide out of my pockets. Damn things can't hold in anything. My schedule fell out and I glanced over it once more. Apparently one by one the people passing the initiation would be called as soon as their review was finished. No one has up until this point, but I thought too soon. The intercom roared to life calling in Sam Kipper; a person in my group. He was called to the initiation room, alone. I heard him making his way up the echoing staircase and I decided to follow him.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">He made it to the top and I stayed the perfect distance behind him. I laid in a prone position like a dingus and spied on him as he was ushered into some room that I had not noticed before. The door was shut half-assedly so I made my way over there and peered through the small crack left open. I could see Sam being seated and discussing with the manager about the “promotion.” The conversation went dark fast when he was instructed to step into a chamber that was hidden away in the corner. The door behind them opened as the tall man with the sheep came in. I guess at this point, they realized that the door I was peeping in through was open. The manager instructed the tall man to go close it. I meant to move but I guess I wasn't quick enough. The tall guy seen that I was there and of course pointed it out. I again ran like a bat out of hell, hauling ass and practically smashing into everything along the way. The slow tall guy couldn't keep up with me. I knew I didn't have the time to go all the way down the stairs so I frantically hurled myself over the railing dropping a couple floors down. It hurt like hell, but I didn't break any bones. The floors were kept short so the building could cram as many offices as possible together. I scampered into the break room on my floor and tossed myself in the chair. I pretended that I was fast asleep. My looks are not anything unique so chances are he wouldn't recognize me. Additionally, he didn't see me throw myself down so if anything, the perpetrator would be on a higher level.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">To my luck, he never found me. But I was left in wonder of what the hell was happening. Office worker? Sheep? The chamber? What was happening? I have asked that question to the point of redundancy, but dammit, I just didn't know.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">That brings me to right now. I realize that there is no way out. Judging by the dozens letters, these people are militant in finding people who try to get away. All the little anecdotes of people they know who simply disappeared. I can't call the police as the phones are disconnected at night, and I won't have another day to live; initiation was happening now. This company can cover anything up so if I try to get away, they will find me and my voice will be forever silenced. Just like the valedictorian.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I would rather be the victim of some crazy experiment with the sheep than to be murdered. At least I would have some chance of living. It is only a matter of time before my name is called so every second counts to getting my story out there. I now realize why these letters end up in the trash. The trash is the only thing in the building that is taken out. These people write their letters and throw them away so they won't be discovered by the higher ups. The assistant managers would be on these letters like flies on shit, but they never would think to look in the garbage. The idea was brilliant. Especially how I hear constant complaints about the homeless people scavenging our garbage (we throw away food like crazy). Whenever the trash is finally taken out after who knows how long, the hopes are that a dumpster diver will discover them and get help.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I am now one of these people. I may not make it, but at least someone else can. I feel like I am on the brink of death right now. Kind of makes me wish that I wasn't such a pessimist all of these years. I write this letter with a purpose; to get my story out there and make sure that this company is given the treatment it deserves. If this note is found, please report it to the authorities. I am held by my balls, so there is no hope for me. I don't know how they are going to cover this up. If this company is capable of keeping their whole operative a secret, then they can easily fabricate some excuse for my disappearance. Just know that whatever the papers say, they're not true. I have died here at the hands of these sick bastards. Whether I am actually killed or turned into a human-sheep hybrid, I am simply not the same. This company wants the perfect worker, and boy are they going to get it. When my name is called, I will walk in with pride knowing that whatever happens, will eventually be stopped. Maybe, I should have just gone to college.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">–

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">The letter was found by a local homeless man dumpster diving. He immediately reported it to the local police whom then investigated the building. Hundreds upon hundreds of sheep/human hybrids were found on the upper levels. These people were known as the strongest employees and the most productive as well.

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<p style="margin-bottom: 0in"> <ac_metadata title="My Office Job (Unreviewed)"> </ac_metadata>