Main Character Vibes

Death was thankful to be alive

"Morning, Joanie." Elias indifferently greeted the fifty-year-old receptionist at his work as he purposefully sped up his pace to walk past her without waiting for a reply.

"Morning...oh, Elias," she said to the back of his head, feeling slightly belittled as she did so.

Elias's work was on the twentieth floor of a nondescript glass tower. It had a run-of-the-mill cubicle floor plan which burned under caustically fluorescent lights. The soulless whiteness of the glaring lights ironically seemed to dim the spirit of the place. Moreover, the dreary design left no room for misunderstanding about this being a place of business, not of human conviviality.

Since day one of working here, Elias had extrapolated that corporate culture was inherently robotic. He reasoned that corporate culture stood as an ode to machines who were idolized for their efficiency in business affairs and were so favored over humans and their follies. "Corporate interior designers commit a crime against humanity with such machinations," he always mused to himself in a comedic effort to enliven the deadness of his day by peppering some levity onto it. It was a defense mechanism of his to laugh in the face of things that made him want to cry. Meme culture was therapeutic.

Elias dragged himself across the office as he surveyed the silent environment of the expressionless faces of his colleagues. The people were joyless. They seemed to be in a prison, waiting out life sentences; their acquiescence was infectious in the air. Their vacant faces were tethered to their computer screens as the faint sounds of music were audibly muffled by their headphones. "At least there was silence," Elias thought to himself as his mouth wrinkled with antipathy while taking his seat.

"Morning," Francis said from over the partition of the cubicle right next to him.

"Morning," Elias replied as he turned on his computer and tediously began combing through his work emails.

Noticing Elias's arrival from his corner office, Jason, the senior manager, approached him and began hovering over him.

"Hey, great job on the proposal by the way...the boys upstairs are greenlighting the project and I'm assigning you to be the showrunner," Jason said with a congratulatory yet belligerent air through his fast-talking Irish accent.

"Thanks," replied Elias without turning his eyes away from the computer screen. It irritated him how Jason would hover over him like that, to the point where he would feel oppressed. It was a proud display of status affirmation. A display whose subtext both Jason and Elias were very attuned to behind the façade of diplomatic professionalism

"No worries," Jason said before continuing to walk away carrying his empty coffee-stained mug.

It added insult to injury that Elias was good at something he loathed. But he could not help the brilliance of his intellect which radiated through his work in spite of himself. To Elias, these laurels were like tasteless victories upon which his spirit could not savor...nor even find nourishment...leaving him with a vague appetite that only grew more ravenous the more he fruitlessly tried to feed it.

Tilly walked into the law firm where she worked. It was on the fortieth floor of a modern office tower made of more glass than steel. The extravagance of the office itself never failed to put a proud smile on her face. It also slightly intimidated her. Whenever new clients walked in, they immediately knew that they were in the prestigious company of a law firm that represented governments, captains of industry, and high-net-worth families.

"Morning, Claire," Tilly said to the beautiful blond receptionist.

"Morning, Tilly" Claire replied before swiftly turning her attention back to the lively phone. "Mirman, Rose, Fulbright...Claire speaking."