In The Mind's Eye

Robotically Blake packed another box while deciding what to do. He imagined shooting Daryl in the back of the head when he walked away. With a shotgun. Yeah, that would make the best noise and splatter bits of brain, bone and blood over the boxes and floor. His body tingled during this reverie. And he could pack bits of brain into one of the boxes with a note to the customer that the cost of their product wasn't only money, it was people.

Daryl turned around and caught the stare. “Get down to dispatch and leave those fuckin boxes for the others to do.”

That was it, Blake had to go. Better to be jerked around if it was Daryl pulling his chain rather than risk his job.

“Okay, boss. I'm goin,” he said wearily. Now he dreamt of shooting the bastard in the crotch first before finishing him off with a head shot. Then doing the same to the rest of them. Yeah, that'd give them what they deserved. A smile broke his beleaguered expression.

It came as no surprise when John, the dispatch supervisor, denied asking Daryl to send someone to help. There was no sympathy, he just laughed and told Blake to get back to packing.

Was John in on this attempt to belittle him further? Blake suspected so as he and Daryl were drinking buddies. His list of imaginary victims grew by one person. A voice told him to “Shoot them all before they turn on you physically. That's what they'll do one day. You know it.”





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