Most nights weren’t that silent, there was usually a conversation or two going on while we worked, but that night we tirelessly slaved over heavy material in preparation for those to come. My back was sore and aching up to my shoulder blades, but I knew that any sign of fatigue would warrant suspicion, so I pressed on quietly and reminded myself to soak later. As I looked around I could see a bead of sweat rolling from the foreman’s temple. She wiped her brow then returned to the tattered clip board to scribble something down, another task no doubt. I watched as the other laborers took a moment to breathe, and decided that it was my chance to relieve myself.
I skipped off quietly, slipping between rows and rows of materials, and endless columns of assorted crates that had yet to be opened. As I continued through the dreary corridor, I stopped to notice something strange lurking ...view middle of the document...
“Back to work,” the foreman growled, and I opened my eyes.
“Okay,” I replied and took another look at the glass. The fog had disappeared but a single hand print was left behind. I marveled at the sight before escaping to the bathroom and then back to work. There was no break between lifting heavy supplies, I was convinced I was being punished for my unauthorized departure, but I was too focused on the handprint to care. I worked assiduously until the work was completed and I was summoned by the foreman.
We all gathered on one knee, looking to our fearless leader as she examined the work that was completed. There were no words exchanged, just judgmental scribbling on the ugly clipboard. We remained silent while she toured our work, and before long she returned with her superiors and their superiors. A burly man with sponge colored hair, a thin beak like nose and wide lips took center stage and peered down at us apathetically.
“If you’ve never seen fear, he said with a sigh, staring at me directly, then tonight you will see its true face. You have been assembled tonight because you are our best and it is our best that we must excel above. Do not disappoint me.”
As we stood with a motivational “hoorah,” we proceeded to the front of the establishment. Fear washed over me as unfamiliar faces filled the dimly lit lot. We watched from the glass as the snarling army gathered outside. I could hear teeth chattering as one of my coworkers emerged from the back room. A hand pressed against the cold glass and I jumped when banging began. The faces were multiplying, likely drawn to the salty, buttery smell of popped corn. The banging sounded again, and I rushed to the door, and snatched it open. The cold paralyzed me and I casted my gaze over the sea of people that had flooded the lot. I was pulled back inside and the door closed behind me. I returned to the group and watched as the foreman took a deep breath. We all dawned our crimson red attire and prepared our scanners. When the glass doors flung open and the masses of zombies flooded in, I held my breath and readied myself for the first demand.