Zero Hour

I have evolved.  Nothing is wasted.  I reach out my always twitching, sensitive hands to feel my way around the office, scuttling among filing cabinets like a pro-active crab on a mission.

I have no stomach that needs feeding.  I have no eyes that need sleep.  I am an efficient species, as efficient as the zero-hour contracts that made me.  I gather up stationary and I file documents away, twenty-four seven.

All my skin became cardboard, decades ago.  It helps me blend in with forgotten corners of the stockroom, where managers can call for me or ignore me, as required.


This piece of flash fiction was prompted by the photo below, which was posted at 100 word story.


2 thoughts on “Zero Hour

    • Well, hopefully not too relatable, hey 😦 I was thinking of a Morlocks/H G Wells-type evolution, which ought to still be a few years distant with any luck.

      I agree, though – I’m wary every time I set foot in the office…

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