Monday morning. Too quiet now.
Bob enters alone. Office empty.
Gray light filters through blinds.
Durboli's desk cleaned completely. No trace.
Faint bloodstain remains. Despite scrubbing attempts.
Chair pushed back. Exactly positioned.
Like museum display. Like crime scene.
Bob stands motionless. Staring at emptiness.
Hands twitch involuntarily. Fingers typing nothing.
Muscle memory remains. Digital ghost lingers.
Pulls trash bag from pocket.
Black plastic. Like body bag.
For office supplies. For memory remnants.
For digital funeral preparations. For closure ritual.
Footsteps approach hallway. Heavy shoes.
Boss enters silently. Suit wrinkled unusually.
Clipboard clutched tightly. Knuckles white.
Eyes avoid desk area. Avoid truth.
Official report filed yesterday. Case closed.
"Workplace incident." "Mental health episode."
"Unfortunate circumstances." "Isolated event."
Corporate language disguising digital consumption.
Hiding technological horror. Obscuring screen victory.
Another figure appears doorway. Smaller presence.
Durboli's girlfriend. Eyes red-rimmed.
Hands clutching dusty photograph. Last remnant.
The three form triangle. Around empty desk.
Silent mourners. Wordless funeral attendees.
No acknowledgments exchanged. No greetings necessary.
Only shared purpose. Only cleanup ritual.
Bob moves first. Begins collecting items.
Pens dropped onto floor. Sticky notes scattered.
Coffee mug with stains. Half-full still.
Each item falls into bag.
Makes hollow sound. Like distant bells.
Like digital church. Like screen worship.
Boss approaches carefully. Ruler in hand.
Aligns invisible boundaries. Creates order.
Hands tremble slightly. Professional facade cracking.
Measures where monitor stood. Marks dimensions.
Like sacred space. Like holy ground.
Girlfriend unfolds photograph slowly. Sees Durboli.
Before screen corruption. Before digital consumption.
When still human. When still whole.
Folds paper carefully. Creates origami shape.
Not random form. Specific design.
Paper monitor. Paper screen. Paper prison.
Places it where real monitor stood.
Where glass shattered. Where blood pooled.
YOU ARE READING
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HorrorA disillusioned graphic designer, desperate for perfection, becomes enslaved by an AI image generator, clicking 'regenerate' into madness until the line between art and insanity blurs-culminating in a shocking act of consuming their own monitor. DIS...
