‘You are not special. You’re not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You’re the same decaying organic matter as everything else. We’re all part of the same compost heap. We’re the all singing, all dancing crap of the world.’
‘So that’s a no then?’
‘You’re damn right that’s a no.’
I had only asked for a day off. One day to go to the funeral. My boss clearly wasn’t going to allow it. I left her office and walked through the maze of identical grey cubicles in a daze.
I sat down and tried to hold it together. Things looked the same but slightly out of place. These weren’t my photographs? The chair felt wrong? Whose lunchbox was that on my desk?
‘Wrong cubicle, pal. You’re one over.’ I looked up and Nick was staring down at me. I had walked down the wrong aisle. It wasn’t my fault, they were all the same.
I made it back to my actual desk. She was right. We were all the same. The same little ants in the nest, going about our work, insignificant parts of a larger mass. It didn’t make any difference if I was there or not. Another worker ant could take my place in a second and no one would bat an eyelid.
I could feel another panic attack coming on. My breathing was sharp and shallow. This was it. This was all there was to life. Nothing. I didn’t matter. None of us do. We’re just numbers, statistics. I needed fresh air. I needed to escape.
My boss appeared at the side of my cubicle and looked at me. I was sweating and gasping. She laughed. ‘There is no escape,’ she laughed and dumped another stack of folders onto my desk.
We are not beautiful and unique snowflakes. This is all there is. Get used to it.
Written for #FOWC, hosted by Fandango Today’s prompt word was: Unique. Click on the link to read more responses to the prompt.
Quoted text taken from Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club.
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