Full Time

I got a job pressing a long sequence of buttons in order. I was proud of it. I practised the eight thousand, six hundred and eighty four pushes daily. Soon, what was frustrating became easy. My muscles knew more than I did, twitching my fingers to the next link in the sequence before I thought about it. I set new records for speed, then accuracy, then both combined. Good things will come your way, the bosses told me, although they were vague on the exact details and got annoyed when I asked for specifics. Soon, what was novel became rote. I retreated into the quiet corners of my mind, explored the mildew and cob webs. I did not like what I discovered in those abandoned places. I no longer thought myself to be a person worthy of good things. When the bosses kept promising, I now thought they were mocking me. When I dreamed, there was only the sequence, glorious in it's perfection. My fingers twitched the rhythm in my sleep, writing the sequence in the air. When the company finally…