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A DAY AT THE ORIFICE PART ONE (THE AWAKENING) CHAPTER 4

Short story By: ZED
Memoir



Inner Voices


Submitted:Apr 13, 2008    Reads: 345    Comments: 1    Likes: 1   


But Osiris, like millions of his fellow human beings, has no friggin' choice, the system has deadly constraints that cannot be violated, and if they are then you are expunged from the warm moist hive and tossed onto the streets with contempt, credit-less without a breast to suckle, and only a cardboard suit to wear and a glue-bag to sniff. Whilst around you the office drones rush by with fear and loathing in their narrow corporate controlled minds. Dead fleshy minds, limping with bad attitudes, platoon-like and flowing through sewer filled subways chanting, "We are free to choose what you give us, and we are free to believe what you tell us!!!"

Osiris is under-whelmed by a feeling that deep down, buried in the cerebral cortex of an ancient mind, lies subdued in anger and love a disturbed dream - it is here in this hidden mental cave that he and his fellow soul travelers appear to be connected. We have been robbed of our inheritance and robbed of our dreams - Osiris ponders.

However, this situation is complicated and the system's configuration envelopes us like a steel straight Jacket, we have spun the political and emotional alliances into worn-out clothes, which have evolved into a series of interlocked mental chains that are expressed as emotional bondage, blackmail and sexual terror.

Osiris's body shuddered involuntarily.

He suddenly begins to see that he is working for an anonymous set of people who are getting disgustingly rich directly from his efforts and in return he is allowed to live in mounting debt and despair watching the majority of his life pass him by, whilst he desperately takes every opportunity to escape from the deadly industrial-military embrace, that he feels leaching into his blood, his feces and his fears.

Osiris could see that it was his labour that provides the 'value' for the benefit of the face-less pugilistic zombies of industry.

Osiris realized that he could hear a talking head speaking below the incessant chatter of his internal dialogue; he could only make out the voice in his head when he tilted his left ear so that it was facing the floor and the finger of his right hand was firmly inserted in his ear.

He farted involuntarily and crossed his eyes and then experienced a loud pop as if someone had pulled out a plug.

The voice was now crystal clear. "They live beyond the pale of our miserable existence inside their tax-free heaven frittering the hours away in their masturbatory holiday resorts, silicon dead boobs draped over their dysfunctional reproductive organs".

The voice droned on……"And what makes it even worse is these paragons of success are not more intelligent, creative, innovative or insightful but 'au contraire' the more rich, important, 'higher-up' on the 'ladder' they seem to be, the more STUPID they are, REALLY STUPID, it is the people who work for them who always have the flair and insight.

"After all, it's our productivity that makes those tax dollars that are spent in foreign lands forcing democracy down the throats of people who don't want your fucking freedom. It's what you're dying for right?"

Osiris was startled by this alternative internal dialogue which had seemed to come from nowhere - but was fully formed and inserted directly into his head. And he was embarrassed when he noticed the office herd staring at him, a gawping frenzy of banal water buffaloes - what a complete wanker he must look with a finger stuck in his ear?

He calmed himself by remembering the hire and fire policy he had been given by Crinky Bollocks the other day - he recalled the International Asshole Systems creed spouted from the sneering lips of Dickhead and Crinky bollocks whenever faced with constructive criticism, "We are NOT a democracy" and "if you don't like it then you can Fuck Off!".

Osiris pointed out to himself, "Sure leave to fen for yourself without medical insurance, without revenue, without credit, whilst they stash their disproportionately 'hard' earned income into the royal banco de rabido in the sun-filled tropical retreat of misery guts on the isle of vaginal lubricant".

The voice echoed in his head. "Yes, they wave this phony flag of choice and insanity in the land of the brave and free, the United Snakes of America."

"Who was that and how does he get inside my thoughts?" - thought Osiris.





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