the job

The first month has gone great so far, but everyone keeps telling me that I better buckle up for the shit show.

I don’t get any straightforward answers about what’s going on.

The broadness of answers is to use my imagination for tools to be weapons.

Ringing in the second month and I’ve noticed the creepy comments and side glances of my coworkers.

They look at me like I’m some kind of forbidden fruit.

I got tired of keeping quiet, so I asked if they had a problem.

The look of disgust when I speak up makes me realizes I made a terrible mistake.

Having to stay over to finish gathering all the tools up and I keep hearing shuffling.

I hope it’s the mice.

The equipment during the day makes everything seem so loud, but once everyone has left it feels like a visit to a ghost town.

Just need the fog to show up.

There it is again.

Time for me to dip, because I want no part of what’s about to happen.

I hear the scrambling and heavy breathing of something big as I turn to leave.

It hits me like a semi, drool everywhere, and whatever is in the drool makes me fade.

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