A class of bonds like chains. A division or portion of a whole.
Outside the bright azure sky was still etched with a flaming orb that trumpeted the joy of the cosmic unity that we are all immersed in. But now as Isis crept inside this cavernous block of office suites he felt his soul being completely eclipsed.
A few more delicate steps and here he was inside the belly of the beast. Every new step took him closer to the crushing sickness of a corporate machine gone crazy.
A machine that spawned the heroes of lust and greed, captains of the industrial deception that branded the sweet innocent of human flesh with despair. Inside their control center the shadowy figures conspired to execute methods that would guarantee the accumulation of more than they needed and more than they deserved.
The secret whispers and guarded laughter rang like hollow promises throughout the corporate flesh of the startled cadaverous workers, who were lined up in neat rows, writhing in chains, lacerated with submission scars and marked with open festering sores of oppression. A pestilent fever raging inside their beaten brows beaded with globules of blood, sweat and tears. Isis was entering the digital networked office.
He could smell the stench of the ruling elite. From deep within their moist fleshy sunlit offices the corporate market babble echoes like the screeches of demented vultures riding the thermals of a corporate updraft, beaded eyes focused on the search for dead decaying meat opportunities.
He could hear the schemes that were now being plotted inside the chattering minds of the blond one known as Mr. Cranky Bollocks CEO (Chief Entrail Officer) and his simpering hunch back side-kick, Mr. Dick Head CTO (Chief Testicular Officer) and CDO (Chief Dowsing Officer) who had a permanent look of strained confusion and bewilderment on his face, as if he was experiencing a sudden cardiac arrest.
Isis turned on his heels and with the grace of a slender SAS ballet dancer plunged through the door, which bares on an engraved plate the following words – "International Asshole Systems, Inc."
Suddenly Isis realized that up until that infinite moment he had been entranced deep within a daydream. Reality was going to be much worse.
To be continued.........................
Short story by Firehawk
Read 872 times
Written on 2005-09-28 at 23:39
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A Day at the Orifice - Tranche One
The sun shone like a yellow pepper in the spicy blue sky. Isis entered through the doorway with a cheerful spring in his walk. That however would soon end. Isis had entered a dead zone. Here all hope is lost; no decent thought could survive the weight of stupidity that Isis would surely encounter in the next few hours.Outside the bright azure sky was still etched with a flaming orb that trumpeted the joy of the cosmic unity that we are all immersed in. But now as Isis crept inside this cavernous block of office suites he felt his soul being completely eclipsed.
A few more delicate steps and here he was inside the belly of the beast. Every new step took him closer to the crushing sickness of a corporate machine gone crazy.
A machine that spawned the heroes of lust and greed, captains of the industrial deception that branded the sweet innocent of human flesh with despair. Inside their control center the shadowy figures conspired to execute methods that would guarantee the accumulation of more than they needed and more than they deserved.
The secret whispers and guarded laughter rang like hollow promises throughout the corporate flesh of the startled cadaverous workers, who were lined up in neat rows, writhing in chains, lacerated with submission scars and marked with open festering sores of oppression. A pestilent fever raging inside their beaten brows beaded with globules of blood, sweat and tears. Isis was entering the digital networked office.
He could smell the stench of the ruling elite. From deep within their moist fleshy sunlit offices the corporate market babble echoes like the screeches of demented vultures riding the thermals of a corporate updraft, beaded eyes focused on the search for dead decaying meat opportunities.
He could hear the schemes that were now being plotted inside the chattering minds of the blond one known as Mr. Cranky Bollocks CEO (Chief Entrail Officer) and his simpering hunch back side-kick, Mr. Dick Head CTO (Chief Testicular Officer) and CDO (Chief Dowsing Officer) who had a permanent look of strained confusion and bewilderment on his face, as if he was experiencing a sudden cardiac arrest.
Isis turned on his heels and with the grace of a slender SAS ballet dancer plunged through the door, which bares on an engraved plate the following words – "International Asshole Systems, Inc."
Suddenly Isis realized that up until that infinite moment he had been entranced deep within a daydream. Reality was going to be much worse.
To be continued.........................
Short story by Firehawk
Read 872 times
Written on 2005-09-28 at 23:39
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
