Zombie Factory Zero

The zombies are shuffling out of their cubes now, some pavlovian instinct has been imprinted in them to herd into the break room. Dead eyes scanning the overpriced candy bars in the vending machine, expressionless faces sipping stale coffee, they speak in soundbites they were taught on the tube and laugh in a synchornized bark. They don't sense me yet, I have to pretend I'm one of them, or they'll turn on me for the mutant freak that I am. They cannabalize the ones who dream of freedom. It'll be alright if I don't make any sudden moves.They're not all undead, the survivors are hiding out in the bathroom reading the paper or some novel,some are on cell phones despeately trying to contact the outside world for some kind of proof of their lives or loves are still out there if they can survive another 8 hours, a few here and there give me a knowing wink, saying "You ain't alone kid, but don't give away my posistion".
Under the flourescent lights, under the insect chatter of our keyboards, under the whining of the phones, and the sighs of the defeated and the dull my soul learns to hold
its breath until the clock ticks me closer to another few hours of freedom.
Resistance IS NOT Futile.
It is inevitable.
But anyway. How's your day going?