Illustration by Morgan Hannah
By Morgan Hannah, Life & Style Editor
My last thought before the cold needle slips into my skin is how Management seems to have such high turnover. I never remember any of their faces, just their boxy red suits. But this time—with my eyes trained on the icy blue eyes of Anti-Superman—this time I’ll remember him.
It’s quick. It’s cold. My body absorbs the enhancer in thirsty little gulps. My limbs are heavy and vibrating as they drink it in. They melt into the office chair and I feel an itching deep inside me. My head bobs around. I don’t like it. Everything’s slow—a lag creating multiple copies of the same image. Deep breaths, that’ll get me through this. Everything smells like leather. Try to concentrate on what is being said, Tom. I try to make out the boxy shapes of Management. Green starts creeping in, like a filter being placed in front of my retinas. With every beat of my heart, a red zigzag pulses in the top corners of my vision. Have I blinked yet? I force myself to close my eyes. Nauseous. I force myself to open my eyes. I reach up and wipe at the bridge of my nose. Or did I imagine that? Uggh, it feels like white noise in my mouth.
The suits at the front of the room have started to introduce themselves. Their lips move—animated, false smiles—but it’s hard to hear what they’re saying. And I can’t move! This is new. I mean, I haven’t had one of these in a long while, but its effects shouldn’t be this potent on me. Should they? My only comfort is that I’m not the only one drinking in poison.
