What had happened? What was wrong with these people?

I pushed the empty cart back to the door and knocked.

“Not bad. Did you have fun in the loony bin?” the Watchman asked, laughing. I couldn’t take any more laughter today. I walked by him without a word, back to the kitchen to pick at my omelet in the quiet of continuing despair, perched on a stainless steel stool while the kitchen staff cleaned up.

There was a soft clatter behind me. I turned and saw a small paring knife on the floor and one of the dishwashers walking away.

“Hey,” I called out. He didn’t turn. It wasn’t a surprise; they were all still ignoring me. “Hey!” I called louder.

This got both his attention and the attention of the Watchman by the door, who looked up from his never-ending book.

“You dropped this.” I got off the stool and picked up the knife.

His face went red, then drained to pale. He looked around wildly. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did,” I was getting real sick of this shit. Nothing was easy with these guys. “I saw it fall.”

“No.” He turned and started walking fast to the door where the rest of the staff was lined up. The Watchman got off his stool and grabbed him by the arm, dragging him back to me.

“What’s going on here?” He addressed me.

“This guy dropped a knife. This knife.” I held it out. “I’m getting tired of not being listened to.” Fuck it. Let him get in trouble for being sloppy, for not obeying the programmers. I was done trying to make friends.

“Well,” the Watchman drawled. “Isn’t that interesting. Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” I said, handing the knife, handle first, to the guard. “I saw it happen.”

“Even more interesting, since all knives were supposed to be returned to the locked cabinet and were counted by this very same worm.”

“Wait, what?” Oh no, what had I done?

“Seems like we have a rebel on our hands, and a potentially murderous one, at that.”

“Oh, no, wait…”

“Good job, Dusome,” he said, unhooking a pair of handcuffs from the loop on his belt and slapping them on the dishwasher. “I’ll make sure this is noted with your superior.”

“Traitor!” the man screamed, twisting in the guard’s grip. “You traitorous bastard!”

Every face in the line was glaring at me. One woman spat when I caught her eye. The Watchman got on his walkie-talkie, and soon the room was flooded with his colleagues, who patted down every person and recounted all the implements.

Oh dear god, what did I do now? I sat back down on my stool and held my head in my hands, repeating messages from the napkins to myself as if they were for me while the kitchen filled with scuffles and protests.

You’re not alone. None of us are.

A new day is coming. I can feel it.

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

That night, I went through each napkin in my head like a meditation. This time there was no music. They were more eulogy than song. When I fell asleep, my dreams were full of their faces, both the inmates in isolation and the kitchen staff with disgust in their eyes. The inmates looked tight and loose at the same time from darkness and hunger; manic jesters in locked rooms. The staff were just angry. They called for my head with their silence.