Desk Job

My eyes met a bloated head, connected to a mouse wire. Then just like a hunger pang, my emaciated mind began enquiring about the source of nourishment. The mother laid still; she passed out to cheat the blinding pain. Hankering for an answer, I posed the question to the head: ‘Is it a paternal debt you’re paying?’ He smiled nervously and almost instinctively, pressed the enter key to exit through the back door. ‘The sins of my father hang around me like a colleague,’ he said. ‘But, all I could see is you, coiled in your cubicle,’ I replied. He touched the dirt on his desk and atoned for his transgressions, as darkness claimed the light as its concubine.


Published by: flatlined84

A thinker outside the quarantine zone. The words on this blog will assault your senses, would make you curse in the holy name of Bard. If that's not enough, leave a piece of your mind in the comments section- the writer is on the dole and is always hungry.

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