She was hungry
She was but she was hungry for something else
She was hungry for someone she hated
I'm hungry, might I eat you?
She was hungry, yes, but she had some manners
First, she sought her enemy and they got into brawl
No more than the first minute was it over
I've always wanted revenge, now I'm hungry
As she slaughter her kill for consumption, she started to disembowel
Her victim screamed, dying a painfully gruesome death
After disemboweling, she had quite expected for her kill to have been dead
The more the pain and suffering, the better you'll taste
Still wanting her dinner to silence, she moved on to deboning
This was no easy task, she wanted her dinner to die
Her victims eyes becoming empty, dying a slow painful gruesome death
By the time she finished deboning, empty eyes stared up her
After a few moments of seasoning, she ate her dinner
Leaving behind a pile of bones
Synopsis: A businessman becomes addicted to the thrill of making absurd changes to his mundane office life. Hijinks ensue.
Today I did things a little different. I figured I’d be better for it, but it only made things worse. No, not worse… for something to get worse it has to be bad to begin with, and it wasn’t. Bad, I mean. But things change, people change; at least that’s what I’ve heard. People say that all the time, in fact they’ve said it so much throughout history that people almost exclusively use it ironically now. Anyway, I thought I’d give it a try-- that was my first mistake. Actually it was my only mistake, but there were a whole lot of smaller mistakes that fall under that main big one; changing myself. And I dragged my colleagues down with me.
Now, I’m a civilized man. I wear my tie around my neck just like anyone else; or at least, I have done so since that one incident in which someone finally came forward and told me I had been doing it wrong all these years. I appreciate that. If ever I’m doing something incorrectly, I want the right method to be made known to me as soon as possible. I love doing things right. You could say I have a passion for it. Or I would if I ever felt passionately about anything. If I were to be passionate about something, it would be rightness. I think that’s good, which pleases me because I love being good as well. That would be my second passion if only I were capable. Goodness and rightness are very important to me, even if not to the extent of passion. If I saw someone doing something bad and wrong, I wouldn’t stop them. If I were passionate I suppose I would… maybe that’s something I should strive for? It’s too late now, of course; everything’s changed.
It all started a couple of nights ago when I arrived at work only to notice I forgot my tie. I ran to my cubicle, clenching my trench coat at the chest to cover my shameful error, when I suddenly remembered that my backup ties were at the cleaners. It was closed today. I was about to just totally freak out when my good friend and arch nemesis, Cecil, arrived at my small workspace with a glint in his eye.
“I couldn’t help but notice the way you were holding your trench coat.” He smirked. “Any man of mighty brains and impeccable taste in clothing could clearly see that you were hiding something-- or a lack thereof.” He spun a No. 2 pencil between his index finger and thumb, wrist limp and elbow nonchalantly propped against the corner of my cubicle wall. He raised the coffee in his dominant left hand to his lips with a look of better-than-you-ness. At the time I couldn’t recall the term “superiority,” so I won’t use it here in order to stay true to my recollection of these harrowing events which took place recently enough that I can sort of remember what I was thinking at the time they happened. For example, after my thought about his look of better-than-you-ness, I remember not remembering what I had for breakfast and feeling concerned about it. I spent the next few minutes trying to dig around in my brain for the memory of my morning breakage of fast and missed everything he was saying to me during this time. At last I had it-- Chinese takeout. How silly of me to forget; it was a Tuesday, of course I had my Tuesday breakfast Chinese takeout.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked Cecil with a triumphant grin at the flawless recollection of my latest meal. I recalled the moment of panic when I opened my fortune cookie. The delicate slip of paper inside ripped in half with the cookie, and on it were the mangled words; “There are big changes ahead for you.” This meant nothing to me at the time, but now I was beginning to wonder about its significance.
“I said I think I have an extra tie for you to borrow.” Cecil repeated with exasperation. He hated repeating himself. He often faked it to get back at whoever didn’t hear him the first time, for instance; say he had told you: “You have something in your teeth.”
“Come again?” you would respond.
He would then change it to, “Catch the game last night?” And stomp away in a huff of frustration and-- ah yes! Superiority. That’s the word. (Please excuse me, I am still following my train of thought from the other night.) Of course, he would probably never utter the words “catch the game last night.” Cecil’s most loathed phenomenon in the world is that of cliches. He hates cliches. Just hates ‘em.
Anyway, he must have felt the tie thing to be far too important to change in his second go of suggesting I borrow one of his, because he repeated it for me and I graciously accepted his offer.
“You are too kind, too kind.” I shook his hand violently but at the time it was holding a cup of hot coffee which splattered all over my work area and sensitive skin. I didn’t mind, though; I was overjoyed by this solution to my terribly embarrassing problem. “I promise to return it good as new!”
“Good as new?!” the pencil in Cecil’s right hand snapped at the clench of his fist, the two separate pieces falling to the floor in a clatter that to me resembled the cries of a close bond being severed, two kids in love being taken from each other by cruel circumstance. “I have half a mind to retract my offer at that overused phrase, and to punch myself right in the face for saying I have “half a mind” to do something-- but this tie thing is far too important. I’ll get it to you right away.”
I spent the rest of the day in a constant state of anxiety at the thought of having to wear someone else’s tie, but a foreign tie is better than no tie. Then a strange thing happened to me, and I realized the thrill of being anxious all day. It was… exhilarating! The adrenaline rush coursing through me whenever I looked down or caught someone glancing at my chest was unlike anything I’d ever felt before, and although it made me feel uncomfortable and sweaty, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. It was exciting, it was new-- it was change.
I wanted more. I started small; shifting everything on my desk askew so instead of being at right angles they were all tilted towards me, as if they were an audience watching me work. My computer and the long list of monotonous company emails within suddenly became a ferocious lion in the coliseum, and I a gladiator, conquering each reply with a mighty swing of my sword (in this case my sword was my keyboard, just in case my metaphor confused you ((I often have trouble with metaphors))).
Later I added almond milk to my coffee instead of my usual 2%. It was really weird and I didn’t want to imagine how they milked the almonds, but I enjoyed every sip with delight and defiance. At the end of my workday I turned left at my cubicle instead of right to get to the elevator, which was a little stupid in hindsight because my cubicle is at the outer corner of the building near the elevator, so I had to go the long way around… but then I took the stairs! I was washed in the sweat of heros. My knees felt like creaky hinges by the time I completed descending the 36 stories, but it was worth it for the thrill. I felt unstoppable, untouchable.
I jaywalked!
I lived.
I could do anything in the world, and the only person that could stop me was me, and I wasn’t near finished yet. I ran into my co-worker, Trent, on the street opposite that of the office.
“Your hair looks great!” He called out to me.
“Thanks!” I beamed at him. I re-parted it on the other side of my head in the bathroom.
“Hey, a few of us guys that were working late are going out for a beer. You wanna join?”
I suddenly realized that the sun had begun to fall during my trip down the stairs.
“Why, yes!” I would have been home eating my Tuesday frozen burrito with my cat and watching Glee by now. “I would love to join you!” Tonight’s episode was being recorded on the DVR as we spoke. Glee would have to wait.
Trent walked me to his car where we met up with Cecil, two accountants named Murlock and Roy, and some guy I’m not entirely sure works with us or even knows any of us, Norman. Throughout the night I believe everyone was casually throwing out subtle hints to find out who invited him, but no one seemed to show any relation to the large, bald, tattooed man in his impeccably clean wifebeater. That’s okay, though; I always carpool with people I know or am formally introduced to. This was a first, and an exciting one at that.
When we reached the bar, called Beers, I left my suit jacket in the car. I never take off my suit jacket, not until I’m about to get into my jammies. They have clouds on them.
Everyone shouted “Norman!” when we entered, but anyone I asked wasn’t sure how they knew him. There was even a burger named after him. Fascinating fellow.
The entire event of attending a bar hangout session with friends was new to me, so I had nothing to do differently than usual since there was no usual. As the night wore on I became accustomed to the activity, and my new restless spirit needed something different. I needed more change, more excitement. I needed an outrageous gesture, so I lead the bar in song. No one knew the words, as I just made them up, but I sang it all the way through proudly atop a table. I kicked a pyramid of shot glasses which crashed to the floor and the bartender began to approach me, but I was too clever. The guys were enjoying my display, and followed me as I ran out of the bar. We laughed together on the sidewalk. I put my tie around my head like they do in the movies. Cecil smacked me across the head so hard the tie fell off and he proceeded to put it on himself. He was wearing two ties. He was changing… just like me.
The night was ours. The city was ours! We wandered the streets blind, ready to take on the world. I kicked a rock and it broke a window. I felt bad but I trekked on. We gave money to a homeless man. He spat on my shoes and angrily tweeted about it right before our eyes on his shiny new iPad. The wallpaper was something about a pipe not being a pipe. I was baffled by this but I was determined to continue enjoying myself.
We entered a dimly lit building. I was drawn to it by the purple neon lights framing the windows, but it had some questionable items for sale… by that look on your face I’m assuming you want me to move my story along. I can also tell by the tapping of your foot and exasperated sighs and also by you telling me to get a move on. I understand your signals. People have often said I am very perceptive.
The next couple of nights my new best friends and I followed the same routine; after work we headed to Beers and had Norman burgers. We got rowdy and meandered around the city until we were bored. I stopped feeling the adrenaline rush, and realized changes were becoming routine for me. They weren’t fresh, exciting. I needed to do something huge. I needed to do something drastic.
I needed to bring a giraffe into the office.
Acquiring the beast was surprisingly easy, but getting him up the stairs was the real challenge. Fitting him in my cubicle was a bit of a debacle, but he found a tolerable way to rest his head 7 cubes down. What I realized is… no one cared. No one changed what they were doing. They just pretended not to notice. That’s when I lost faith in my colleagues. Even Cecil, who had begun gossiping at the water cooler and saying things like “lovely weather we’re having” with no bigger reaction than a cringe and a nervous twitch, passed by me hurriedly without making eye contact. My full-grown giraffe was the pink elephant in the room, and people ignored it because it was easier than dealing with the situation. Because hiding behind your massive pile of papers that don’t even seem to have a purpose other than being assigned to you is more convenient than taking a giraffe out of the workplace, let alone bringing him in. I suppose that’s how they’ve dealt with me for all these years.
It’s rough being an antelope in LA, but I’ve always tried my best to blend in with society. Luckily I’m not an antelope in LA. Gotcha goin’ there for a moment, didn’t I? Nah, I was living around the center of Vancouver at the time. I’m not adventurous enough for LA… although now I suppose I am. I will move there! No, no… I promised, no more changes. From now on I’m doing things the right way, the good way. I will be good and right as I was before. Like I said, I am a civilized man, even if I am an antelope. I can restrain myself. I can wear my tie around my neck. I can take the logical route to the elevator, and I can descend it with ease in enough time to make it home for Glee and frozen dinners with my cat. That way I can avoid situations like these, and live the rest of my life the easy way, like I did before. I wouldn’t light any more office buildings ablaze and take refuge in the woods outside Vancouver. If you let me out of here I swear I won’t cause you any more trouble, Officer. Can I call you Off for short? OH can I call you Olaf?! That would be sweeeeet.
Anyway, that’s it I guess. Say, don’t I get one phone call? What do you mean it doesn’t work that way here? Who is in charge of this establishment?
Psh, Animal Control… more like animal dominion, am I right? Or is that just a fancier word for control?
Would you kindly?
I am in need of a dancing partner
One that would be suiting to dance with mourner
In a mourner's dance
Such a lovely melancholia this is
Do dance with me!
Won't you please?
Dance with me this mourner's dance
To lovely melancholia
That seems to speak of ill-fated love
One that seems to speak of a careless death
This is one final dance for me
Won't you dance this last dance with me?
Please?
I thank you of giving me this final mourner's dance
Oh how much I miss you
If only I could be with you
I do hope you are safe
I'm not there to tell you these things but...
I love you
I do hope you behave and do what Ran tells you
I hope they won't find you and throw you in here, too
Also, I do hope you'll be brave
If only, I could have joined you
But, with the impending danger, I was given no choice
It was either you, Ran, and Chen or me
I made my choice and I know you'll forgive me
I've taken care of you in infancy and this is the only thing I can give
I'm sorry I cannot be with you, Reimu
My sweet, oh how much I miss you
I didn't want to leave you and if only I could be with you
Someday, my sweet, we'll meet again
But, for now, if only I could be with you
That winter was her last
She died an unusual death
On the Winter that her last
It was when the winter began
Did she breathed her last
Yet, blessed be that she not died fast
She died an unusual death
Her hand frozen in a pained and agonized posed
Her fingers curled, as if she was clawing for her life
The ice stung like glass shards
The winds were suffocating
And death had slowly took its hold
She died screaming, I hear
Now her screams are left in the wind
Such a horrible sound they are
No one can say which killed her first
In the winter that was her last
She died and that winder was her last
Her winter was not kind
Her winter took her life without any sort of mercy
She died screaming and no one knows what killed her first
Was it the glass shards?
Or was it hypothermia?
Or was it both?
No one knows and no can say for sure
But that winter, the winter that took her life, was her last
She died not too long ago
She died looking at the stars
Now she is amongst them
She can never rest in peace, amongst the stars
Did she die happy?
That, my dear, I do not know
So wracked with guilt was she
So upset was she
I guess death was not the sort of sweet relief one would have thought she ever so much desired
She cannot rest
She is amongst the stars
But can never go past purgatory
She won't rest until some puts right to her wrong
I see her, there she is, amongst the stars
Music playing: Title Screen (Devil of Decline OST)
--------
I'm looking for someone I've lost
Have you seen her?
I do hope you have
I've lost her and I want her found
See this photograph?
It is worn and old, I know
I've lost her and I would like her to be found
I don't know when I've lost her but I've lost her
But it was a long, long time ago
She is very dear and someone I've lost
Who is she, you ask
Why she is my dear sister
And, someone I've lost and I want her found
My sister is someone I've lost and someone I want found
