Reason for Leaving
I have very few possessions on my desk. A hello kitty calendar. A good luck cat with a bouncing golden paw. A computer that I had to buy with my first paycheck.
"Why. Is my stuff. In a box." I demanded to no one.
I stalked into my cubicle, vastly annoyed. I may not have been the perfect employee. I may not have passed for even a good employee. However, I always clocked in within the three minute grace period, I never took more than 30 minutes for lunch, and I got all my work done only a day after deadline. When I first started this job, I had the patience of a saint. Granted, I did notice my tolerance dwindle over the year, but I never took it out on our clients. I had decent work ethic, and I even broke up with a boyfriend to keep myself from getting distracted by my work. They had no reason to fire me. And if they WERE going to fire me, why did they go through the trouble of packing my stuff for me?
Why fire me to begin with?!
This was really pissing me off!
"MR. LOMBARD!" I suddenly screamed from the middle of my cubicle.
"She snapped! Press the button, pressthebutton!" Mr. Lombard's voice whined, "This is what we've been waiting for!"
I spun around just in time to see a fourth wall slam to the ground, blocking my exit from the cubicle. I threw myself against the wall, slamming my fists. "WHAT IS THIS?!" I raged, clawing at the wall. I climbed onto my desk and launched myself at the fourth wall. It was a cubicle wall. It was supposed to give.
"Vitals?" a voice over the intercom asked.
"The chip is reading her blood pressure at 200/112, pulse at 150," another voice said, "Mr. Lombard, it's working. She's changing."
"Finally," Lombard's high pitched whine cut through the din of voices suddenly flooding my cubicle, "A candidate that survived the allergy."
"Let me out!" I yelled, "What are you doing to me?! Why..." That was when I noticed the fur.
Black velvet was snaking up my fingers, my perfect nails shooting from my nail bed with a sound like a car sliding against a wall. I screamed with a tri-toned voice that echoed in the walls. "Help!" I cried.
"So it's true," a voice said, "Stress in a controlled, monotonous environment can trigger the enzyme for change. We've done it. We've discovered the secret to lycanthrope. The theories are true. People can indeed develop an allergy to work, and the stress leads the human transformation into a monster."
"Call the others," Mr. Lombard said, and my nose, at the end of a long, canine snout, detected a sweet smell in the air. My mind grew foggy, and as the tranquilizers claimed me, I noticed my body changing back to normal. "It's time to put in our two weeks for this company and say that we're allergic to work."