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Chapter 21: Cannibals

Dear Journal

A sudden sweaty panic began to set it as the realisation that we may all be trapped in the boardroom till Monday became a striking reality. Already some of the castaways had begun to draw straws and pillage the corpses who hadn’t yet awoken from their alcoholic comas.

“I’ve tried the door and it won’t open. I think we may be locked inside” said one of the castaways, who was difficult to take seriously wearing a crown that said “The Party King” on his head, as well as a pair of ladies panties with a rabbit’s tail on the end of them.

“We’ll be stuck here till Monday!” announced one of the panicked crowd. The sentiment of panic seemed to mirror through the room.

And then in what can only be described as the quickest rendition of Lord of the Flies, Timothy, one of the interns in the administrative department, was tied to a pole and placed rotisserie-style, over a pile of books, reports and other kindling as the other castaways began disassembling the boardroom furniture for use as firewood.

Timothy was the perfect candidate for cannibalism, not only because no one would miss him since barely anyone even knew his name (despite being required to wear a humiliating “Hi My name is Timothy” sticker to work every day), but also because having served as an intern for the past 6 weeks had already destroyed his will to live and his ability to speak unless spoken to. So as long as no one spoke to him he kept completely silent, even as they stripped him bare and basted him in left over beer.

I was as worried about our survival as much as the next person in the room, but the thought of resorting to cannibalism after only an hour seemed a bit rash, not to mention the amount of administrative BS and paperwork, a cannibalisation disciplinary hearing was going to bring.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “We can’t eat the poor guy, we’re colleagues, some of us are even friends.” At this point I realised that I recognised no one in the room partly because I don’t really get out of the Customer Services Department much, but mainly because a strange bloodlust had come over the room and they were all focussed on Timothy as he turned slowly over the growing embers (luckily no one really knew how to make a fire from office equipment – there was much I could’ve taught them)

As the flame began to form Timothy kept completely silent despite the sweat dripping from every pore. Thankfully, the entire room was silent for the next second somebody shouted…

“Oh wait a minute the door says PUSH. I had been pulling on it, yeah it’s open!”

A great and vocal simultaneous exhalation could be heard, which one would probably contribute to an equal mix of relief to be free; the frustration of being “trapped” longer than was necessary; and embarrassment at the thought of what could have happened to young Timothy.

Everyone began to file out the room sheepishly at which point a sudden realisation dawned upon me but felt that this was not a good time to remind everyone that our “impenetrable prison” was also made entirely of glass, to risk further embarrassing the castaways.

We may be free, but I still need to find out what happened last night

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Posted by on July 18, 2011 in journal

 

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