THE OFFICE

THE OFFICE

**Waking Up, From A Dream**

***

** Camila is sitting on her work desk, she just broke free from the labyrinth that’s been clouding her mind since the morning, and is now working on a column as usual **

The faint, rhythmic bubble of the water cooler in the corner punctuated the silence, each soft plop a reminder of routine and of the life that thrived around her. The water cooler of a symbolic essence of the entire office, a symbol of unification that connected each and every journalist in the room, as each would seldomly pick a cup from the Styrofoam bundled pack that is stacked up in a neat pillar next to the locker doors and would choose to either warm up their water by mixing a bit of the originally cold beverage that runs through the gas cylinder pipes to be cooled, with the heated version on the left with a typical red cap which is now currently broken, after management authorized the discontinued usage of that tap from a couple of months ago.

Each bubble broke the surface with a soft plop, contrasting sharply with the cacophony of the office. Camila was back at her desk, surrounded by the dull drone of office life—the hum of computers, the staccato clacking of keyboards, the occasional murmur of voices. The air was thick, almost suffocating, as if even the building itself was holding its breath.

The computers on her row that stretched out to the far right whirred to life, with fans humming in a low drone kind of synchronous sound of hard disks as they spun with a furious tempo, sending a stream of beeps cascading into the air.

Nearby, the relentless tapping of keyboards filled the space, a symphony of clicks and clacks, each sound blending into a wall of noise that seemed to drown out the chatter of voices of her known colleagues have been working there for years, with some being new junior employees and some hired as part time freelancers to assist the editorial house with speedy operations.

Camila Reyes had black and purple dreadlocked hair which was fastened to the sides with most of it tied neatly in a stunning pony tail to keep herself presentable at her space of employment, and although she was working undercover, she couldn’t afford blowing her cover at this crucial point of time as Elaris itself depended on it, the chest chose her for a reason, and we were still to see if she’s worth the pick.

She sat in her sleek black chair, her fingers her fingers poised and hovering over the keyboard but not yet typing, as the screen remained blank. The girl just wasn’t typing, she could feel the buzz of the city beyond the glass, so her mind was far away, lost in the dark corners of her thoughts. Her focus was elsewhere, lost in a world where the bright, glaring fluorescent lights above could not reach. As she stared out the window, her gaze was far from the bustling city below; it was caught in a whirlwind of thoughts.

A colleague passed by her desk, waving a hand in greeting, offering a half-hearted friendly gesture to capture her needed attention, but when he saw her distant stare, he faltered and quickly moved on, Dismissively, as he turned back to his cubicle, unaware of the tempest swirling of the weather her mind was currently in, a storm was brewing within her, but as he noticed her in a distant stare, he figured that they’d talk about it over lunch.

Suddenly, a gust of wind slipped through the slightly folded blinds as it surged through the open window, sending a flurry of dried leaves spiraling off the window frame, and scattering a small tiny pile of some of the leaves across her desk and onto the office marble floor. Camila watched as they danced aimlessly in the air, carried by currents they couldn’t control—like souls lost and adrift, twirling around with no direction, no purpose—mere objects discarded by the world, like the spirits of Devachan, lost, just mere souls who crawl the city’s dark scape through the night.

**The comparison stung, a little too close to home, so she shuddered at the thought, feeling a pang of connection to their fate. **

As she glanced at her computer, a headline flashed across her screen:

“Beauty Slips, On Open Roads.”

She picked up the newspaper beside her, the pages crinkling under her grip. The headline screamed about a political murder that had sent shockwaves through Elaris, painting a portrait of deceit and violence. She remembered the last time she’d seen the deceased politician—an interview not long ago, now a chilling prelude to the tragedy that followed. The image of the body sprawled on the road haunted her, mingling with the nightmare that had stolen her sleep.

As her focus drifted, the office dimmed in her vision, the outside world blurring into the background. The piercing beep of the copy machine sliced through her reverie as it churned out papers, a harsh reminder of the mechanical world around her. Another sheet finished its journey through the shredder, the sound of grinding paper echoing ominously in the otherwise hushed space. In this office full of life, the noise was a deafening quiet that drowned out individual thoughts.

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

The monotonous rhythm of typing filled the air as Camila's mind wandered. Suddenly, the elevator doors chimed open with a resounding TING!

**The elevator doors at the far end of the office chimed open, drawing her attention, and the attention of everyone else in the office compartment. Although no one stepped in or outside of the elevator the room seemed a little tense for a moment, as nobody even bothered to step out of their seats to check who was there or to press the “CLOSE DOORS” button as they knew they would eventually close automatically in a few minutes. **

Silence blanketed the room, thick and stifling, the atmosphere thickened for a moment as the workers paused, as if everyone had collectively held their breath, expecting someone—or something—to emerge. Then, with a soft hiss, the doors slid shut, after a tense two seconds, the moment passing as quickly as it had arrived. Everyone returned to their tasks, dismissing the glitch as just another ordinary day in the corporate grind, but Camila felt the weight of it—the heaviness of unspoken truths.

She wasn’t a person who was easily distracted, judging from how far she came from losing her family to a solar storm that was followed by mirages of deafening climatic changes tha occurred like a part of a dream, tearing apart her previous hometown and leaving her desolation. She’s been known as a tough woman in her office as everyone is well aware of each other’s profile before being employed, ‘As Company Policy’ the events, that lead her to showing up to Black Rock must mean that she’s a formidable woman, who is not to be toyed around with.

However, today was kind of a weird day for her, hence the distraction that involved everyone, including herself. She returned to her screen, she gripped the newspaper in her hands, the crinkling paper grounding her thoughts momentarily. The headline screamed at her: a political murder had shocked the city, the gruesome details unfolding like a morbid tapestry. As she gazed at the skyline, thoughts of the deceased politician drifted through her mind.

**In that moment, the camera slowly creeps in, focusing on her computer screen. The words glowed faintly in the dim light: “Beauty Slips, On Open Roads.” **

*CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. *

As she typed, the world around her blurred, fading into a darkened haze. The buzzing of the office faded, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the steady, rhythmic clicks of the keyboard. It was in this solitude that she found clarity, even if it was cloaked in shadows.

Her fingers moving with renewed purpose. Each keystroke echoed with finality, as if carving the story into something solid, tangible. The words flowed from her like a dark river, pulling her deeper into the narrative, her mind slipping further from reality. She was no longer just a journalist; she was a storyteller, shaping a tragedy that she had come to know all too well.

An unsettling silence enveloped her desk as she recalled the brief interview again in her mind, trying to remember every little detail of what she had in mind before the elevator doors swung open, like the doors of an arcade machine video game.

She stops for a minute and recollects her memory well…Thinking to herself:

“I had conducted a meeting with this person, this person currently lying beside the yellow lines next to the pavement…. Isn’t this the chancellor? Isn’t this politician the same one whom I had coffee with the other day?”

Now, she imagined the naked body lying lifeless on the asphalt, with the silver cloth draped over her, and blood stains splattered on the street, from her body all over to the sharp object that was lying next to her with a police card marking its position, and her whole entire body lying in bright chalk. A luminescent, almost water based colour that made a vivid drawing of how she was currently lying down. Face down, arms stretched with one arm bending towards the body, signaling a brutal disfigurement, a fracture that might have occurred during the tassle, that might have led to her murder. This was a very stark contrast to the vibrant life she once led.

The image lingered in her mind like a haunting specter, a reminder of fragility. Camila blinked, forcing herself back into the present. She took a deep breath, letting the adrenaline wash over her. With renewed determination, she turned back to the blank screen. The words began to flow, as if drawn from a well of darkness within her.

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

**With fierce intensity, her fingers keep dancing over the keys as the world around her fades into the background. In that moment, nothing else mattered. The story was unfolding, and she was at the center of it, weaving the threads of tragedy into her narrative, shaping it into something sinister and compelling**

Camila’s fingers flew over the keyboard, the click-clack of the keys punctuating the silence of her mind. Each sentence flowed with an urgency, fueled by a mix of adrenaline and inspiration. The words captured the essence of her story, a grim reflection of the political murder that had rocked Elaris.

As she typed the final sentence of the first page, a sense of satisfaction washed over her. She leaned back, allowing herself a moment to breathe, her eyes drawn to the title at the top of the page. “Beauty Slips, On Open Roads”.

A flicker of doubt crossed her mind. With a resolute nod and a hurried haste, her hand briefly spread out and slowly shifted to the right side as she closed her palm softly and leaving just her index finger.

She selected the entire title and pressed ‘Delete’, the backspace key pressed down with an ominous Click! before a silent Clunk! as it let go and sprung up from its base on the keyboard, erasing the whole title from existence. It felt liberating, as if shedding a skin that no longer fit.

Just as she was about to refocus on the next paragraph, she noticed the colleague who had waved at her earlier. He stood by the door, his lunch bag in hand, flashing a friendly smile as he prepared to head out.

“Hey, Camila! You coming?” He asked, his voice a cheerful interruption to her thoughts.

She smiled back, her mind briefly contemplating joining him.

**And then, without warning, before she could respond, a sudden thud interrupted the moment. The picture frame on her desk teetered precariously on the edge and, in a slow-motion cascade, it toppled over, falling to the ground, with its glass shattering on impact. **

The sound jolted her, snapping her out of her trance. Camila bent to pick it up, her heart clenching as she overlooked to inspect the image inside the left-over frame with shards of spread out across the marbled office floor, that was earlier polished by the cleaner bots who are oftenly passing by whenever a mistake that requires cleaning happens.

She picked up the frame, brushing away the shards. Inside was an old photograph— slightly faded at the edges, with an amber tint that spoke of the years gone by. It was herself and her mother, standing outside a small cottage nestled among the tall palm trees of Elaris’s southern coast. The smiling faces of her past, as her mother filled the frame time almost lapsed as she thought about the solar storm that paved a way for the end, capturing a moment of pure joy and at the same time making a trickle of tears, to embrace Camilla’s puffed-up cheek as she quickly brushes them off her eyes.

The image was a painful reminder of a time long past, a time when the world was simpler, before the dark secrets had begun to unfurl, before the weather changed and the earth started rattling, before the lightening storms tear down the suburb and the tectonic shift made the entire grid collapse. It was before she went out with her father to forest, where she met up with Penny at the camp… THE CAMP????

**Her mind dabbles a little on the memory of the past trying to remember what had happened in the forest. She remembers glimpses of the Camp, but a lot of it has faded since time has slipped away through out the years…**

In the picture, her mother’s arms enveloped her shoulders, a warm embrace that radiated love and safety. They stood outside a charming cottage, nestled among the tall palm trees that swayed gently in the coastal breeze. The backdrop showcased the serene southern suburbs of Elaris, where life moved at a slower pace, the ocean’s whispers harmonizing with the rustle of leaves.

The memory flooded back: sunny days spent playing in the yard, laughter echoing as her mother encouraged her to chase the waves. The image was a stark contrast to the dark world she had just been writing about. It reminded her of a time when innocence and happiness were not just fleeting moments but the fabric of her life.

She brushed her fingers over the glass, her mind drifting. The palm trees in the background danced with the wind, tall and strong, much like her mother had always been. But there was a shadow creeping in—a darkness that lurked at the edges of her childhood, whispering promises of power and the thrill of control.

**The camera lens shifts, closing in on her computer screen. For a brief moment, the words fade, replaced by something darker. The image of a necklace, glinting like a serpent’s eye, flickers on the screen before disappearing. It was the same necklace she had found years ago, hidden inside an ancient chest—her first encounter with the world beyond. The one that had led her to the book, and the secrets of Devachan. **

**As the office around her dissolved and faded into the distance, Camila found herself transported back to that quaint neighborhood. That fateful day—the day the chest opened, and her life was changed forever. The air was heavy with the scent of salt and pine, and she was no longer in the city but standing outside a small house in the suburbs of Elaris. The year was 2024. **