[Cooking him raw, 599 words, Genre: Experimental]
* Image courtesy of Dirk de Bruyn
Bill was working. Working casually, but still working. In every work environment, there were always things that were bound to occur. Things would go wrong. Mistakes would be made. Everything, there and in-between, something would happen. Whether it was someone sticking their hand on the machine, to placing too little plastic strips in a box, something would go wrong. Why were things going to go wrong? To what extent did they go wrong? Problems, problems, problems…
It was difficult to understand why problems had to exist in the world. Why they existed, to what purpose did they serve. The world isn’t perfect and either are the people in the world. They are all faulty. They all have their nervous ticks. The ticks in their cheeks, the ticks in their brows, the ticks in their mind… All of them slowly tick, tick, ticking away. These little things piling up until they make someone angry enough that they finally do something about it.
Bill would throw the blame on everyone else around him. Saying that things weren’t done on time because someone did this or did that. For Bill, it was always someone else’s fault. Never did he look within himself and see his own problems encountered.
So as the days faded away into weeks, the weeks into months and those months into years. He just kept on spilling. Spilling out and in and onto the public consciousness of other people. Telling his superiors at work that it was ‘that guy’s fault’ or ‘this lady’s problem’.
Eventually, it became common knowledge that Bill would do this. That he would always blame everyone else and that he, himself, was blameless to every situation that did occur. It would wreak havoc to the team environment that everyone was attempting to build.
And eventually what became common knowledge was that it was actually Bill’s fault. All of these problems were occurring because of Bill. When someone else made a mistake… Bill’s fault. And in a way it was Bill’s fault. Everything was always connected and all the problems that were occurring in the world were because Bill held this certain attitude. This certain attitude, this certain disposition. He thought and believed that his actions and the consequences of his actions were all inscrutable to the people around him. He thought that he was beyond judgment, beyond it all.
So he would walk around with his head held high and his chest puffed out. The big man. The big man who was beyond a pause of thought for self reflection.
They would all talk behind Bill’s back. Creating a depository for their negative emotions. All of their hate, all of their shame, they would cast out and throw it onto the shoulders and back of Bill.
It became this psychic phenomenon. They didn’t even have to say it. They would just think it. All of Bill’s co-workers would throw wave after wave of negativity on Bill. In their minds, talking behind his back, even dreaming about it.
And slowly Bill’s life became a nervous wreck. He pursued alcoholism. Inflicted with the demon of self-destruction. At a loss of love. He would feel all the bitterness swell up within him. Within his mind. Like a decrepit pool of pus.
All of the scorn and hatred would be thrown onto him. In his mind, in his thoughts, in his feelings. He was a dejected lump of pus. It was kind of like a microwave. All those invisible rays of heat created with electricity. They were all working their way in on his mind.
Slowly cooking him raw.