CLANK: A Book of Madness (Psychological Satire Novel) Unsettled Office Worker Loses the Last Screw by Draven Madpen Page A

both
whisper, still in amazement.
    She reaches out to retrieve
the bowl with absolute reverence and the utmost of care. I grab her wrist to
say, “May I?” The woman nods understandingly, and slinks to the rear. The room
begins to disappear, everything is vanishing. There are no background noises.
It’s just me and the bowl. I extend my hands to pick up this treasured gem. The
weight is flawlessly balanced. It truly is the greatest work of plastic
craftsmanship that I have ever encountered. Wilmer Cromwell will be
unable, by virtue alone, to refuse this fine of a dish.
    I’m running to find the
nearest cashier line. But here I notice an obstruction. One which I caught
sight of some moments ago off in the distance. Here he comes again… An odd
looking character equipped with a hook nose, caveman brow, and the beady eyes
of a rat. What a putrid appearance. But wait! What in god’s name is he doing!
He’s coming toward me now, isn’t he! He is! Christ!
    The goof stands before, a wide
smile on his face. Uh oh…
    “Finding everything all right,
sir?” the voice cuts through the air as I turn to leave. What does he want? Why
has he been following me! Everything all right, sir? My mouth is
beginning to shake a bit. The top lip is quivering slightly.
    “Umm, what?” I ask the freak.
    I look around the store for a
moment to see how the other people are acting. No one seems to notice this
brute attacking me. I’m being brutally violated here! In a last ditched effort,
my head snaps backward before it nods weakly in the affirmative. My eyes are
shut momentarily, but when I open them I see my hands and arms have become
T-rex like… They’re at chest level, shaking feebly.
    “…Yes,” I somehow mumble.
    This gesture coupled with that
tiny word seems to do the trick, magically. The greasy haired animal smiles,
nods, then departs. This is the third time I’ve spotted him. He asked me the
same question some time ago. Accosted me really, endlessly. What am I doing
here? I find myself so befuddled by the encounter… Well, I’ve got a plastic
bowl in my hands. That’s right! Cromwell’s gift! The one he surely cannot
refuse. Maintain ol’ boy, just find a register. A few aisles over and you’ll be
home free… Trek on ol’ boy.
    What the hell! That idiot!
He’s coming back! Christ! Somebody should help me, why does he persist so
aggressively! Can’t they see what is going on? Don’t they know? The world is so
G-D apathetic these days… And here I am mixed up in this plight. This same
maniac is coming at me—with, what the—a smirk on his face of all things! A
menacing glare. There’s a name tag on his red shirt: Todd.
    Another one! Dear god!
    I scan the immediate vicinity,
planning my escape route. Holy! But as I turn back, there’s no longer a Todd written on the tag. It now says RETRIBUTION and the man it’s attached to is
smiling broadly. I bet he’s got a gun. One of Wilmer’s henchmen… No, probably a
knife. He’s been sent here to gut me right at this spot, to spread my entrails
out in the store.
    “Finding everything all right,
sir?” he questions.
    Am I going crazy? This is the
twelfth time or so it seems that he’s asked me the same question in as many
minutes. Is he crazy! Who cares, Cromwell! You won’t get me this time! Time for
me to leave, now! Think boy, think…
    I glance in the opposite
direction and say, “Actually I think I saw someone grab a bowl and run out the
backdoor just now. Is that possible?”
    “Wait,” he says, sticking out
a hand at belly level, “some one just took a bowl and ran out? ”
    “Yes,” I restate. “Right out
the backdoor.”
    “Was he wearing a red shirt?”
    All the employees are in red
uniforms. So is this imposter.
    “No. He had a black hooded
sweatshirt on with some sort of gang writing along the back.”
    The henchman pauses for a
minute. I guess Wilmer didn’t instruct him well enough… I sense the wheels of
thought spinning in his mind.