Workplace phobia

An empty office.

My empty office.

It was never supposed to be empty.

First, my friend was affected.

Then you went for my father.

Now my sister.

Now even you leave my own workplace a nightmare.

"Are you toying with me?" I speak out into the room that was never this big before.

This room that never had these things in it before.

I work as a private investigator along with five colleges of mine. It was a strange place to work at. We never talked. They all seemed to hurt to talk. Like if this place was where people who got damaged in other places ended up. I suppose it's the same for me.

Being belittled, hurt, and frown upon by so many other places I was forced to be at because we had it hard with money. After countless hours of people thinking themselves better because they got just a cent more than me, eventually got me to where I am now.

Working as a private investigator for Flower Lane.

We all worked alone here in Flower Lane. All read through our cases and went on our missions alone, and yet we thrived. We got it rolling. But now...

Now, it's nothing more than a false memory.

I stepped in here just like any other day. Taking a week off to mourn the death of my last family member. But as I walked through the door leading into our cozy little office, I was meet with the melancholic whistling of a song I had been told about so many times.

I only had to take one step into the office to see what had been done to it. Cries of terror echoed through the ever expanding workplace. As scenes of people's horrid memories of pain and despair that plagued them in their prior workspaces.

Yet right there in the middle it stood.

The one I had been obsessed with the past couple months. The one who had now set its eyes on the people I cared about.

The one I had dubbed, the harbinger.

A tall figure hidden behind a tall trench coat and a hat that hid its face to an impossible degree. Its hands were in it's pockets as it stood whistling.

"Where is my father?" I asked.

Whistling.

"Why did you take my sister!" I yelled.

Whistling.

"Why are you after me?" I screamed.

But it simply whistled, and I saw it stand there as I sunk into my own painful memories.

Seeing the men and women taking money and pining it on me. Hearing the disgusting voices of the people who believed them smarter or better than me. Feeling the gaze of the one who thought they had me...

I sat now once more at an office desk. The same one I had been forced to work at since my mother died. The same one I felt watched at, I felt judged at and the same one where I was mistreated at.

Countless of days I could sit there without leaving for home, not even knowing what I was typing. I was a slave to the desks of the ones who sat in leather couches smoking cigars as they did nothing about us.

Not carrying about the lady who complained about the man in the cubical right besides her. Not carrying about the single father who needed time to meet his kids. Not carrying about the many who where hurt in offices and other places where we spent our living days.

Unconsciously, I wrote on that desk, pressing buttons on buttons on this dusted old keyboard. Staring at a screen running programs far to old for a computer to have. My mind spiraled once more into the depressing future that lies ahead of me.

Forever working at one place, never seeing the world as I had dreamed of as a child. Never knowing the magic of foods that weren't packaged frozen or cup noodles. Seeing the stars on TV, living the life I wished for.

Seeing people I grew up with go big as I am stuck behind another desk.

My body shifts as I'm now standing. Holding on to cleaning supplies, scrubbing down a bathroom at some fast food place. Same thought running through my head.

Never enough money to buy what I want, never enough time to enjoy the things I love, never enough space for the family and friends I have.

I shift again as I'm unloading boxes of various goods onto shelves.

How do I even dare to think I'm good enough to be anything more than to work here? How dare I dream of a life of success? Me, helping people? Solving cases like the detectives on cartoons? Don't be ridicules Judith.

Thoughts echo in my head as I shift back to the desk. Repeating it all over and over.

Same creepy eyes. Same depressing thoughts. Same day over and over and over and over.

No.

I was not to fall for its spell.

I got to the place I wanted.

I got to Flower lane.

I stood up. Using the memory of what that thing had done to my family as kindling to the guiding light through this hellish recollection. I ran away from all the crying, screaming, and begging of old colleges and the angered scowls of bosses. Ignoring the kind gestures of better people, both in power and not.

I ran to the door I knew must be here. I was not to be a slave for this work again. So I run and run until that whistling becomes ever so clear.

I see it now. That Meloncolly bastard that brings nothing but terror.

I sprint, and before I could think, I tackled it.

My body cracking as it felt like I hit a pure brick wall. Yet I push forward, and I feel us fall through the door and out of the nightmare of past employments.