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Jun. 13th, 2007 08:11 pmWorking...
The report is due tomorrow at 0900. Some things don't wait. The news reports don't matter. Fewer and fewer of us showing up at the office? Doesn't matter. The roads must roll. Meetings go on. The investors demand. The vice presidents.
I string the last bone, then knot the end of the string, and tie the necklace around my neck. Small skulls. Wishbones. One bag of birdseed and an air rifle and an afternoon. Mom's old stockpot. The kitchen stinks, and I don't dare open the windows. Night is falling and that's when they're the most active. The stench would draw them all, and I only need one of them. One in particular...
From my home office, the sounds of a keyboard. Morry. What's left of Morry. It enters the data. Makes the tables, the charts. Even after all that happened, all it's been through, it still remembers Excel.
I spread the feathers over the living room floor. The bones click as I move. I begin the chant. The internet never ceases to amaze. Someone had scanned the books, the old parchments. There were even clips on You Tube, so I could see the dance being performed. Hear the songs.
Lena's out there, somewhere. The Queen of StatGraphics. She could make the numbers sing any tune you wanted.
The report is due tomorrow at 0900.
Come to me...
BLITEOTW
The report is due tomorrow at 0900. Some things don't wait. The news reports don't matter. Fewer and fewer of us showing up at the office? Doesn't matter. The roads must roll. Meetings go on. The investors demand. The vice presidents.
I string the last bone, then knot the end of the string, and tie the necklace around my neck. Small skulls. Wishbones. One bag of birdseed and an air rifle and an afternoon. Mom's old stockpot. The kitchen stinks, and I don't dare open the windows. Night is falling and that's when they're the most active. The stench would draw them all, and I only need one of them. One in particular...
From my home office, the sounds of a keyboard. Morry. What's left of Morry. It enters the data. Makes the tables, the charts. Even after all that happened, all it's been through, it still remembers Excel.
I spread the feathers over the living room floor. The bones click as I move. I begin the chant. The internet never ceases to amaze. Someone had scanned the books, the old parchments. There were even clips on You Tube, so I could see the dance being performed. Hear the songs.
Lena's out there, somewhere. The Queen of StatGraphics. She could make the numbers sing any tune you wanted.
The report is due tomorrow at 0900.
Come to me...
BLITEOTW
