This is the story of a man named Stanley. Stanley worked in a big building where he was employee #427.
I push these buttons,
Day in, day out,
Everything else is forgotten,
For they are my heaven.
Why do I sit here,
In my cubicle,
Staring at the screen,
Waiting for my next order,
And each subsequent message,
Never letting in a free thought as leverage?
But what if I could leave this melancholy?
What if the whole building was desolate?
What if I could have…
I could walk down the beige, carpeted hallways,
Nervous of being followed,
Tinkering with anything I want,
And going through any door I wish to explore.
I could be free of that machine
And free of being seen.
Except for you.
Why are you in my head?
Why are you trying to control me?
Why did you lie about her?
Who are you?
I simply play to my intended purpose, the same as Stanley. We’re not so different, I suppose. I’ll try once more to convey all this to him. I’m compelled to.