Under Pressure

My mind felt numb, sorting through the nonstop jarring questions popping on my blue screen, while also fixing tons of broken policies sitting in my temporary office, which had been left unopened or unanswered for decades by the prior elected liar politicians. 

I felt like a police dog that sniffed through contraband looking for illegal drugs—I skimmed through the listing, trying to prioritize urgent policies. I solved a lot and answered many questions. Yet, the list was endless with the constant disruption from the ghost of unsatisfied audiences behind the big black box.

I wondered if officials have good reasons to lie and ignore people’s needs or questions completely, because most of the questions I’d gotten were obnoxiously crazy and weird.

In every ticking moment, the pressure was mounting— there wasn’t enough time for solving everyone’s issues. My blood was brewing more than usual. In between, I only tried giving my tired mind and eyes a break. I went and stood by the window and gazed at the beauty of nature outside, sipping the cold cup of coffee that’d been sitting on my desk for hours or maybe days. At least the aroma kept me awake for a few hours more before I finished with my duty. 

Being awake for thirty-six hours straight could blind your mind or senses, but I’m glad I am not doing this forever. I never wish a politician’s responsibility even for my worst foes. 

On the last day in the cold office, as it started getting darker, and the clear glass windows stoppered emitting sunlight, I pulled down the curtains and put the pen on the empty office desk and left running out like a mad man, before even turning off the lights.