Gaseous winds shot up and down the skyscrapers, scorching the concrete with poisonous air; humans having become accustomed to the noxious smells creeping into their daily existence. The human race was over. Nothing could be done. We had all finally come to accept the fact that our generation was to be the last. And what was to come next? No one actually knew. Oh there were theories of course, but any information was purely second-hand now that broadcasting had been shut down. Yet people still reported to work. People still kept going. Everyone had started meditating more than usual, it's true, trying to move into Inter-Dimensional Consciousness: Phase Four. This provided hope. Hope was a slim commodity, and very desirable.
"I have some new Trans Trance for you," said Martina. She loved this poor little man that spent everyday inside his donut cart. He spent 79% of his profits leasing his spot on the sidewalk, as well as maintaining his donut license.
"Oh luvly!" the man gushed. Bernard took Martina's congeniality with tremendous gratitude, as she most certainly made his mornings meaningful. Yup, she was on his side. She got it. Not to mention how she walked in those heels. Wowza!
"Some of that Ginger Tripe you love so much." Ginger sang with the voice of an angel, couched with darkly sexual programmed beats. Martina was not a fan, yet she always stopped what she was doing whenever Ginger was on the radio. Back when there was radio. Why was she so seduced by the singer? Or was it the engineering that was so slick and seductive? It bothered Martina. She set the memory key atop Bernard's metal counter.
"I have some new Trans Trance for you," said Martina. She loved this poor little man that spent everyday inside his donut cart. He spent 79% of his profits leasing his spot on the sidewalk, as well as maintaining his donut license.
"Oh luvly!" the man gushed. Bernard took Martina's congeniality with tremendous gratitude, as she most certainly made his mornings meaningful. Yup, she was on his side. She got it. Not to mention how she walked in those heels. Wowza!
"Some of that Ginger Tripe you love so much." Ginger sang with the voice of an angel, couched with darkly sexual programmed beats. Martina was not a fan, yet she always stopped what she was doing whenever Ginger was on the radio. Back when there was radio. Why was she so seduced by the singer? Or was it the engineering that was so slick and seductive? It bothered Martina. She set the memory key atop Bernard's metal counter.
"I'll thank ya fer this," said Bernard with a wink of his eye. Tonight would be a very gratifying masturbation session, followed by rejuvenating sleep. Thank you, Martina. Thank you.
In the newsroom, Martina found herself feeling more nauseous than usual and ducked into the ladies room to vomit. Shit, someone's in the fucking bathroom! Why can't I ever have it to myself?! She decided to perform the common task of duking up her last meal, in front of Clarice. Fuck it. We're all in the same boat. Privacy is futile. Just puke.
When she finished, Clarice offered her lipstick. "You know better than that," croaked Martina.
In the newsroom, Martina found herself feeling more nauseous than usual and ducked into the ladies room to vomit. Shit, someone's in the fucking bathroom! Why can't I ever have it to myself?! She decided to perform the common task of duking up her last meal, in front of Clarice. Fuck it. We're all in the same boat. Privacy is futile. Just puke.
When she finished, Clarice offered her lipstick. "You know better than that," croaked Martina.
"Do I?" asked Clarice, "Seems like we should go ahead and share everything by this point...instead of doing what they want us to do all the time. Share and share alike. Wouldn't that spread the love HAHAHA!" Martina washed her face and left without responding. That was a scary laugh, she thought, but what if Clarice is right? Why even bother to keep track of each beauty product, each food parcel, even each medication for that matter. Share and share alike. Aren't we all ONE, anyway?
Sitting at her desk, Martina picked up the phone to hear that familiar crackling sound. Not again! How was she supposed to get any bloody work done?! They're in charge today. They want to run the show. Fine, let them...but she was going to find out who this they actually are. Today, if possible.
After she drinks her coffee.
Sitting at her desk, Martina picked up the phone to hear that familiar crackling sound. Not again! How was she supposed to get any bloody work done?! They're in charge today. They want to run the show. Fine, let them...but she was going to find out who this they actually are. Today, if possible.
After she drinks her coffee.
