Room 201
My dear friend lost his eyesight due to a work accident. A vague flashback to a time where freedom was still lived tells me it was oil that had splattered in his eyes. Tragic. Now I’m working for the same company. A strange setting. An old crumbling castle with a widely uncovered open space right in the middle. The space is filled with very old white PC’s lined up against the inner walls, while leaving quite some distance between each other. As I’ve taken seat at one of the PC’s I catch myself staring at the windows 95 logo on my screen. I’m anxious because I have no knowledge or experience in what I’m supposed to do. Everyone around me is working disciplined and determined. The anxiety is rising. I realize I’m not here by choice. I have no choice. The boss passes by and initiates the 30 day trial on my PC. He gives me a tap on the shoulder and goes to stand in the middle of the wide and open space. The shoulder tap felt manipulative and only increased my anxiety. I’m nothing more but a chess piece of mass production. Forsaken and beat up, my boss starts singing an old socialist anthem. In protest of the rising fascist government. Or not. I’m not sure. He’s not singing for long. Along with tiny circular robotic tanks that surround him, military snipers with hypermodern gear kill the man before he finishes the verse. This is a tilting moment in history. Dark times are coming. If there was even the slightest doubt, this pubic murder has taken it away: the dictatorship is a fact. I feel strangely relieved, yet full of guilt. Panic arises. People are running for their lives. I run with them, but I return to the castle quite quickly. I really need to find my room so that I can hide there. Number 201. Where is it? Time is running out. I found it. Although everything is terribly rundown, the “201” on the wooden door is unmistakable. I can’t open it. Why can’t I open it if it’s my room? I finally managed to get in. A big middle aged darker skinned woman is hiding in my room too.
