The Building

It was a tall building, not a skyscraper, but certainly about as tall as the likes of a New York skyline. It’s sort of brutalist style and design, slabs and stacks of concrete stacked upon each other like a seemingly endless stack of crooked blocks, was indicative of what it represented.

“Seems like such a bare, empty tomb,” Agatha thought idly as she passed by the building. “Fitting for how it was built, it should be a mortuary.”

She looked up at it briefly but squinted at how bright the sun was overhead. She walked passed this building every single day. At 8:15 in the morning, it was there, standing and staring at the world, a stern reminder that, yes the past can come back to bite you.

She saw the irony of her sentiment and how such architecture was so outdated; yet now more than ever, this movement of truly no design and only form and function, it was the most important statement that encapsulated the current times. Politics had nothing to do with it, nor politicians, nor legislators, nor any one with a title and with prestige.

It was the people. The overwhelming majority that succumbed to their fear of loss; the fear of losing their freedoms.

She shook off the fleeting thought of vandalism, since it was a useless and vapid motion to carry. It spoke enough for itself. Anything added to it would muddle the truth of it all.

It was a testimony to what the people were capable of in times of increased fear mongering and the implementation of humankind’s most important quality, self preservation.

In the United States of America, twenty years ago, the country had always preserved something it had been a pioneer of, freedom.

Agatha read all the archived reports of children, teens and families being locked up and detained in filth and deprived of basic human needs. She cracked her knuckles and sighed.

She took out her coffee mug that she brought with her everyday and went to the cafe located on level three of her building.

She ordered a black coffee with room for cream, hoping that the caffeine would help her growing headache. Maybe even a little sugar could give her the pep she so desperately needed. Rubbing her temples, she received her order and started toward the creamer area.

“Ah, good morning Aggie. How’re you?” The voice from behind her almost felt like a scaly, sneaky grab by a decrepit Creepshow host, and she slinked forward as if she needed to escape its wrath. Her nose wrinkled. She hated being called ‘Aggie’, especially by him.

She slightly turned toward the voice and half smiled. “Fine, after I have my coffee. You?”

A low chuckle. “Me too! I get that attitude.”

She sighed, grappling her intense hatred of this man over her supposed loyalty to him. ‘Yeah, Chuck, that’s totally going to square things with your employees and make them think you’re all on equal footing,’ and at that thought she mustered up a, “Of course, in this climate, it helps to have something strong.”

“Absolutely,” he chuckled.

To her, he was a croaking frog who was all warts and no charisma. A certain dancing and singing cartoon frog came to mind and she smiled. ‘That’s the only frog I like, one who only does a dance when he wants to, not when The Man wants him to,’ she thought with a secret smile, her hand covering her lips.

A slight change in her bosses face, snuck upon it a thin sneer, much like how you’d suspect a jackal would smile— if they could. She barely resisted the urge to gag at his rapid lack of self awareness.

A thickly patronizing order was drawn out to the drone behind the register. “One large Americano and one of those warmed up scones with lots of butter; and hurry up, I need to get to a meeting in fifteen minutes. If you need help since you’re new,” his sneer almost seemed greasy from so much stretching, “Ask one of your associates.” He grumbled out a, “Thank you.”

She fumbled with her coffee, the creamer spilling; forgetting the sugar.

He gave her one last nod and she tried to nod back, but found her steps moving far away from him, slightly sprinting towards the stairs, not the elevator. “Just in case he wants to join me...” she muttered hastily under her breath. She knew he hated exercising, and especially when it came to climbing anything, he was loathe to do it unless it was the only option.

It was a way of life to ignore insane things, and for Agatha, it was numbing. She sometimes would awaken, wishing and praying it were a stupidly written horror story, only to realize it was not only her reality. Every single one of them had to live it. Every single day.

She felt things must change. But she knew it didn’t come out of apathy, or doing nothing.

She wanted to rise up and fight it somehow.

The first crazy thing she did that day was shred the new documents that on her desk.

New legislation, perhaps never-to-be signed now.

She wasn’t going to quit, either.

It was the beginning of a very, very long day that turned into a very long year for Agatha Ferrel.

And she was just fine with that.