Five O'clock world
System: Dead Inside
It's 8 am. You've just come to work after a far too short weekend; the office looks like itself. The usual people, the usual boring grey plaster walls, the slightly irritating hum of working computers. You go through your usual routine, scowling at the lazy mail boy, flirting casually with a colleague, nodding politely at your co-workers. Everything is the way it always is. Or is it? You get the feeling that something is slightly… off. You don't know what it is, but there is something wrong. Perhaps it is yourself, the hollow ring in your voice when you describe your weekend, that tells you that you're just all making it up. Where were you, really, over the weekend? You have the nagging feeling you either weren't anywhere -- or worse, maybe you were here, at work, the whole time. You can't quite remember. As the day goes on, you keep trying to ignoring your instincts. Then you notice other things amiss. The caller ID on your phone is never that of the person calling you… sometimes it writes "Hell", sometimes "Heaven" and other times just "Upstairs." As is that wasn't enough, the coffee machine keeps making weird noises, noises that to you sound like voices, talking in a language you don't understand. What's going on?
|Con Dôme (2005)|
Dead Inside på Atomic Sock Monkeys side: