Let me introduce myself: I’m a dull, insignificant, totally common grey office mouse inhabiting a dreary, shadowy cubicle, a perfectly square space, whose huge modern window is barred from vulgar daylight by the powerful, awe-inspiring wall of an adjoining building.
The sun is stubbornly prevented from entering my cell and only if I glue my whiskers close to the sash pane at a narrow angle am I able to catch a glimpse of the sky. I found this blinding experience hurtful to my sensitive eyes and now I prefer to not endanger my dwindling sight with this kind of frivolous adventure.
In time I have become quite adept at guessing the hours of the day and changes of the seasons by interpreting the various stages of gloomy twilight hanging heavily in the room and I entertain myself by observing my shamelessly colorful coffee cup being plunged into various shades of gray and black. I am able to loose myself for humdrum hours staring into the muddy coffee grounds collected during my long-winded working days.
Whenever I have to emerge from my dungeon to communicate with rodents from other offices, I grab a pair of sunglasses, since my eyes cannot take any sudden, unnerving spurts of unobstructed light and illumination: I’m used to the dark.
Under starlit heavens in the small hours before dawn, my employers come to collect me at my dusky street corner in a van with curtains drawn, filled with other sleepy, cheerless creatures sharing a similar fate. After a bumpy ride over the many pot holes ornamenting the road to the industrial district, where our offices are located, I am securely deposited into the obscurity of my darkroom, where I immediately put on a wretched expression to start my mirthless day.
For my own good I am brought back to my street corner late after sunset so that I shouldn’t suffer any unexpected exposure to sunlight and vitamin D.
I already started the transition from a mouse to a mole and our social worker promised me a pair of smart black eye patches at the company’s expense, should I become as blind as a bat.
However, I am surprisingly twinkle-toed as I navigate around the office furniture within my dreary four walls. Having endless hours of practice at my command, I have no problem finding diverse files on the obscure shelves by running my fingers over the holes in their cardboard backs, counting and identifying the right ones according to my vague memory of brighter days.
Operating the phone isn’t a problem, since I obey the motto “Don’t call us, we’ll call you”. This saves me in general from looking up and dialing other people’s numbers. To make my strategy even more accident-proof, I usually forward the calls to one of my twinkle–eyed companions in misfortune, imprisoned in another adjoining cubicle.
Only when I try to water my brave and struggling potted plants, who against all odds still hope for photosynthesis, I sometimes accidentally hit the electric plug with a jet of water, whereupon I am thrown to the ground into the secure darkness underneath my desk. This interlude always fills me with a feeling of relief by temporarily sheltering me from the only glaring spot in my somber surroundings, the notorious computer screen.
Although this irritating device is my existential connection to the outer world and I depend on it for bits of information and contact to other forsaken creatures like me, I would prefer to have it dimmed and adjusted to the bleak atmosphere I have learned to treasure as my natural, most uninspiring surroundings. Also the red stand-by led bulbs of the air conditioner and other appliances are a thorn in my flesh. The memory of their lurking presence regularly haunts me during my frequent nightmares, in which the victory of enlightenment is conjured in fluorescent colors!
In my halfcrazed nights I dream of reckless, desperate missions, during which I furiously demolish all neon bulbs in the elevators and corridors of our high-tech grave, only to find them mysteriously reassembled and grouped in juvenile delinquent gangs, awaiting me with their brazen grin again at the exit! The cheeky red bulbs marking the light switches on the walls join the scene with their high pitched, malicious giggle and I crouch into a lusterless grey fur ball, clutching my paws over my hurting eyes and stammering between my prominent front teeth: "I am a proud, unexciting office mouse and I refuse to lighten up!"
I started to form a support group for tortured soul mates, who likewise feel upset by such shameless illumination at their work place. We seek to put an end to any blinding activity disrupting our bland daily routine. By developing effective defenses against the forces of light, we will not allow bright intruders to conquer our grounds. You can sympathize with our struggle by kindly signing our petition asking for security controls at the entrance to our building, detecting people carrying torches, candles, matches, mobiles and lit cigarettes. All these insolent devices should become a thing of the past and sink into oblivion and lustreless doom!
First Rain
(water desperately needed!)
