404 Error: File Not Found
Read the screen burning away at the softly bleeding retinas of Timmus, The Mighty Accounts Manager of HubrisSoft - a reputation management company based in deepest darkest somewhere or other.
He, amongst his other mighty account manager brethren Timmus in their open plan office there was a seething silence. Nothing had been said for hours. This was not unusual, and most of them preferred it this way.
Timmus clicked away the 404 error.
They seethed not at each other. They seethed at the general unfairness that they were here rather than somewhere else.
The silence was broken by a man in thick blue cloth trousers and jacket with a couple of days stubble on his chin and freshly buzzed hair clomped into the room declaring:
“I am about to turn the water off for a minute okay?”
No one paid him much attention. He looked correctly working class and stupid for the job he was doing - and it was supposed that someone intelligent had told him to do so.
One of the Might Account Manger Mangers grumbled something at him and he disappeared from the strip-lit room casting a hateful florescence on everyone.
Some time passed and Timmus, The Mighty Account Manager, seethed his way through some more work, thinking: “if it wasn’t for money I would be free to chop down trees and wrestle bears or boars or something. In essence I am a victim of capitalism - maybe I should seek compensation?”
The suitably working class man entered the room again and said:
“All done”
Timmus took the time, before he left, to think about how profoundly ugly the man was.
After some further prolonged seething, Timmus decided to escape burning his eyes from their sockets by making everyone who wanted one an instant hot beverage of some kind. After taking the same orders he did this time every day he visited the small, strip-lit kitchen.
Here he picked up the kettle a pushed it under the long next and head of the mixer tap and turned the cold water “on”.
There was a huge whine and spluttering stuttering noise from the wall – presumably from the pipes as they strained against something.
A small dribble of water, dirty and full of white flakes slopped into the kettle pathetically; Timmus peered in and turned up the tap to a higher pressure.
There was a very brief, very high pitch whine before, suddenly, with a phenomenal force, thick, dark burgundy liquid came blasting out of the taps.
It splattered and misted when it hit the basin, covering Timmus in the sticky-thick red liquid – from them smell of it splattering across his face Timmus knew that it was old and cloying blood.
He turned the tap off and looked at the room and then his Mighty Account Manager Manager who, was staring at a blood-drenched Timmus limply holding a kettle, seemed to have little to say.
Timmus did his best to look nonchalant; shrugged and asked the Account Manager Manager if he knew “what the ugly young man needed to turn the water off for anyway?”
