I arrived at the office on Wednesday to find that K. was gone.
This was not, in itself, unusual. People left. The department had procedures for this, forms which existed precisely because such things happened, and the existence of the forms suggested that they happened with sufficient regularity to warrant them. I found this reassuring.
Continue reading “The Reassignment”
I want to be clear that we followed procedure throughout. We always follow procedure. That is, in fact, the point of procedure.
She came in on a Tuesday. They nearly always come in on a Tuesday, I don’t know why that is, I’ve never looked into it. She had her form already filled out, which some of them do, and she slid it across the desk the way people do when they want you to know they’ve thought about it. When they want you to know they don’t need help from a wish processing clerk.
Continue reading “The Wish Granting Office”
I have been keeping a record. The AI suggested it. Or I suggested it to the AI. The distinction has become less reliable than it once was.
I work in procurement. I raise purchase orders for stationery, cleaning materials, and occasionally specialist equipment. It is precise work. It suits me, or suited me, or was described to me as suiting me at some point during a conversation I may or may not have initiated. I have been in the same office for eleven years. I know this because the file tells me so and I have learned to trust the file.
Continue reading “The Prompt Log”
The file arrived at 11:23. Standard routing. No flags on the system.
Daniel opened it in the order it had come, as per procedure, and began with the supporting documentation. Applicant name: Margaret Reeves. He stopped. Looked at the window. Looked back. He wrote reviewed in the margin and continued.
Date of birth: 14th March 1958. NHS number. Next of kin: Daniel Reeves. He underlined nothing. He moved on.
Continue reading “Form MEX-7: Exemption Review – Case 4,847”
The first one was a man named Gerald. He died in February, a Tuesday night, sleet against the window, and what he left behind was the sound of a door closing softly in an empty house. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just the specific sound of someone arriving home to no one. I heard it the moment his breathing stopped. I have not stopped hearing it since.
Continue reading “Room Seven”
