Worker 1 was employed by Amazon as a delivery driver and a janitor. In their story “The Dark Side of Convenience” the main character toils away in an increasingly hostile and time-consuming work situation, which costs them their closest relationships. The characters are so absorbed in their work that they can hardly notice the invasion of earth by aliens who threaten to obliterate the planet.
“How far?”
I looked to Hendrick, the driver and lead of our caravan. Several vehicles had gotten this far, trying to guide everyone to safety. We knew what we had left behind was far, far worse and, for a moment, the ugliness surrounding us seemed like paradise. We were in the tens of hundreds, some on foot, others on bikes – with a few of us providing protection in the armored fighting vehicles – all headed in the direction of salvation. Or so we hoped. When the world around seemed to get worse and the journey became unbearable, we held tight to each other, striving for a future we doubted would come.
“It’s not a moment of hope, Darian. We’re still in sight, and as things remain, there is no escape from prejudice,” he retorted.
“To mean?” I countered, a thousand worries finding purchase in my mind. Hendrick stared back, unwavering. After what seemed like eternity, he grunted, turning his head away to look around at the devastated landscape.
“The Cataclysm gobbled us up so fast, I hope this enclave will find an outpost soon.” He turned back to me and added, “Survival seems more of a favor…”
An earth-shattering boom.
The detonation seared the ground beneath it like a scorching brand. The blast-wave tore through everything in its path, a relentless tsunami that tossed debris and bodies like confetti in a maelstrom of destruction. The acrid smell of burning chemicals and fuel filled the air, suffocating and sickening those caught in the blast’s deadly embrace. The scene was apocalyptic, with twisted metal and shattered glass littering the landscape. There was an oppressive silence, broken only by the crackle of flames and the occasional cries of the wounded.
My face smeared with dust and ash that covered the cuts and bruises, I rose from unconsciousness. My clothes were torn and tattered, and my hair blackened and disheveled. I blinked rapidly and exhaled with great effort, feeling the broken ribs pushing into my organs. I gathered myself up, hearing distant moans that I belatedly realized came from me. My hearing must be impacted.
I wandered in a daze, looking at the death and destruction around me, searching. Then, for the second time in months, I found Claret. I didn’t care if I hurt myself more. I fell to the ground and hugged him close. I don’t how long I lay there, but then Cindy was there, too, staring at me, covered in blood and struck dumb. I cried then, seeing in their eyes hope and a sense of belonging.
I was their mother. I was their mother. Cindy staggered and fell, and I caught her, enveloping them both as we cried together for all that had been lost, and for that which had been found again.
For a moment I seemed to care again, though there was no action to attest to that. I cared for my children, and for my husband, who I was sure I’d never see again. Yet, I would endure. For him, for everyone who had been close to me. My second coming didn’t make much sense, but, nonetheless, I felt a flicker of hope. I thought I had lost hope long ago. I had lost so much, but in that moment, I felt I had gained the world. With hope lost, there was hope gained. I was finally ready to fight. I finally had something to fight for.
The four-tower complex in Seattle’s Denny Triangle had been my second home for nearly eleven years. The sleek, 30-story glass and steel complex in the heart of the city had a blunt yet striking facade that was a mix of floor-to-ceiling glass panels and gleaming steel beams, creating a dynamic and modern aesthetic that reflected the building’s cutting-edge design. The complex was situated in the company of lush greenery and public art installations, a reminder of Amazon’s eloquence and authenticity. The entrance to the building was bright and airy, with soaring ceilings, polished marble floors, and contemporary furnishings. Yet, in its effort to depict exceptionality, it often oozed mediocrity.
Still, nostalgia creeps in when I remember the building’s state-of-the-art elevators whisking me to the seventh floor, an impeccably designed office space with open plan workspaces, private offices, and high-tech conference rooms. I get wistful, lost in memories of the panoramic views looking down on the cityscape, of swimming in the sense of being above it all. I couldn’t have known then what would become of this world.
I guess my role at Amazon was essential. Or at least I had an active role in pushing Amazon and the world to “far greater heights.” I would liken my role to that of a pilot struggling to guide a plane through the storms amidst intensifying turbulence.
Since its start, Amazon had been embroiled in controversy, but four years before The Catalysm, in November 2082, at the onset of the pandemic, when the economy held on by a thread, Amazon became undeniably oppressive. We were forced to work long hours with no extra pay and our rights as workers were stripped from us, one by one. The demand was high and the weight on our shoulders grew exponentially. I witnessed my colleagues collapse from exhaustion and radiation poisoning. Some were sent to the hospital, others to the morgue. Anyone who dared question Amazon’s priorities was gone before they’d finished composing their complaints. Given the state of the economy, there was always someone else waiting in line for the job. All Amazon cared for was the gains, and they squeezed us to get them, without concern for our suffering, for our losses.
One evening, as I stood at the counter in the office, flipping through a pile of papers that were mostly trash, I came upon a stack of letters. With only one exception, the letters bore no visible address, though each was marked with a series of codes. The exception was a letter addressed to Lee Dixon, the former Chief of Operations at the facility where I worked. The letter was dated December 2082, about six months before the American Times broke the news of Lee’s resignation. There was no question that his “quitting” was a lie, but then that was a thing of the corporates: walking away into the dusted sands with the excuse of fishing. Liberals, on the other hand, had made their thoughts well known and cited frustration from the top leadership at Amazon, a claim that even Lee himself had rubbished as unsubstantiated and lacking merit.
Four years later the grim truth lay in my hands, a four line handwritten determination on an 8.5 by 11 inch canvas. It turned out that Lee had refused to oversee the implementation of new policies that he cited as oppressive. With that, he had sealed his own fate.
The events that preceded Lee’s death didn’t fail to attract attention too. Having threatened to go public with a new publication he was set to launch, Lee had fallen mysteriously ill. First it was the coma. When the doctor’s couldn’t bring him out of it, his former colleague and co-author Harper had rushed to leak the nearly-completed publication. Harper had his own side of the story. Many believed he was bitter because his contract had been terminated after he got sick. But what they didn’t understand was that his stroke had been the result of the working conditions at Amazon, particularly his intermittent exposure to excessive radiation.
As we could confirm, Harper’s story was a reflection of what many workers at Amazon faced. The only difference was the direction each employee’s life had taken. Some, like Harper, had survived and become whistleblowers. Some died outright. Others had lived in denial and then erased themselves from existence. Still others, like me, had carried on, enduring the plights. Those who had died in this race to find a modest life for themselves and their families were worst off. They had sworn their allegiance only to find that the very thing they thought was their salvation would betrayed them. It had ushered them to a soft death without any remorse. Worse, it did it with a smile and a “thank you for your business.”
When Lee finally did wake from the coma, everyone had moved on. After all, in his absence he had spilled the beans and everyone had scrambled for their portion. Amazon, on the other hand, weathered the blows, wrote down their losses, and then zeroed in on him. The end was inevitable.
“Darian.”
“Darian!”
The voice called twice before I realized who it was and where it came from. I pulled myself back to reality and stood with my head high, facing Dr. Sarbitzer, the CEO of Amazon. My feet threatened to leave, but there I stood, showing solidarity to the intricate shadow of tears flowing down my cheeks, my only defense if there was something to worry about. I turned to the table I’d been working at, imagining I would quickly gather up the papers spread across it, but to my confusion, I found the table empty. Hadn’t I been reading some papers? Everything seemed fuzzy and my forehead wrinkled in consternation as I tried to make sense of it. The clock on the wall ticked and tocked in the resounding silence, as if to evidence its functionality. My eyes drifted over to it. It was 10 pm, not that the time was relevant. It was a routine for us to work extra hours and we were well acquainted with such late hours. At least the clock always had company.
I rubbed my eyes, trying to bring myself back to the moment. I looked at Dr. Sarbitzer again, seeing his sunken eyes and his face filled with dread. He must have been awaiting my resurrection. I wanted to confront him but my brain forgot to send the message to my tongue. I opened my mouth several times, but words betrayed me and I merely stared at Dr. Sarbitzer, my heart beating wildly and sweat streaming down my face.
“The papers.”
He softly spoke, clutching a small stack.
Still struggling to get caught up, I stared at him, forcing my tongue to form the word, “Papers?”
“I said papers!” he repeated, louder this time, slamming his fist down on the table. His anger frightened me, but the words finally got through. I continued staring at him, trying to recollect what I had been reading about.
“What did you see?”
The anger was gone, replaced with something almost gentle, inviting. I wasn’t about to fall for that.
“Nothing…” I mumbled. “Umm, I mean just some letters and stuff. Nothing much.”
“Mmmh, letters? Just letters! You must be kidding me,” he retorted. He stared back at me briefly before turning on his heel and walking out of the office. I jumped as the door slammed behind him.
He appeared again, hours later, to drill me about the stack of papers I had perused earlier. I realized he didn’t care much about the letters. I could see that from the disinterested look in his eyes. He would steer my attention to “transactions” and “receipts.” Yes, I had seen the receipts and transactions. There were letters directing the Chief Finance Officer (also now “resigned”) to change specific transactions, to edit certain figures. I had thought nothing of it until Dr. Sarbitzer’s interrogations forced me to connect the dots. The more he interrogated my knowledge, the more knowledgeable I became. Amazon has been a den of looting and corruption. I acted dumb.
After a couple of days of torture, Dr. Sarbitzer ordered my release, convinced that I had no vital information on their corrupt dealings. I was distressed and distracted as I left work, trying to remember everything, collecting the tiny bits of memories and assembling them into one complete story. Luckily, my feet knew the familiar path to the nearby transit hub. As I navigated through the unyielding obscurity of the night, my eyes demonstrated their remarkable capacity for multitasking, deftly guiding my footsteps while also brimming with tears that reflected the weight of the world’s unrelenting sorrows and hardships. I knew I was vulnerable.
When I got home, everyone was awake. Always ready to be distracted, Cindy forgot about her video game when she heard the door open. Claret, ever calm, lay on the couch beside his father, staring at the ceiling. They hadn’t seen me for almost four days, and now I walked in, unannounced.
As soon as I stepped into the house, they ran to me, hugging me, ignoring the stink that emanated from me. My husband looked at me, taking in the disheveled hair and clothes, the empty despair in my eyes. He led me over to the couch, pulling me in to rest my head against his chest. For once in a long while I found a world of appreciation and love. I was at home once again and it felt like things had fallen back into place. I was naïve not to realize that this was just a cooling down period, before things were set ablaze again.
By midnight the fire we had lit in the backyard had burned down to a bed of glowing embers that pulsed with a soft orange light, the logs, once towering with flames, now reduced to smoldering charcoal. As the night grew colder Cindy and Claret retreated to sleep. Only my husband and I remained outside, each finding comfort in the other’s embrace. The embers provided a cozy warmth, but their glow was fading fast. They would soon be smothered by the ashes that surrounded them. It was a peaceful scene, but also a reminder of how fleeting life could be.
I would have gladly gone deep into the night, but the disturbing thought of returning to work the next morning, and the far worse thought of facing Dr Sarbitzer, tormented me. Even so, my exhaustion meant that sleep found me quickly. I went to sleep uncertain of my future.
While Amazon had strict policies regarding reporting to work, I was torn between swallowing the bitter pill of reporting to work or… well… not.
The reality was, I was afraid to try to quit and start again. The country, the world, was battling an economic crisis and it was unlikely I’d be able to find another job. Amazon was destroying us with its policies, but, still, it was something to hold on to. Options evaporated and, against my husband’s will, I let go of my bitterness.
Tomorrow would be another day at work. The only change I was certain of was the clothes my colleagues and I would wear. The walls, the struggles, the beasts, they would all remain the same.
I found myself more and more estranged from my family. What choice did I have really? Remuneration plummeted and mandatory work hours climbed, making it almost impossible to strike a balance between work and family life. Despite the worsening situation, we remained adamant that the coming days would be better. Somehow.
The truth was far beyond our sight, yet with every sunrise we made our way to Amazon, a forward trudge through the murky mist of ambiguity. The company continued changing its policies, putting in place more stinging nettles: a bain to us and a cure to them. The policies made Amazon’s manipulations more apparent – and more abhorrent. The e-commerce sector was scrambling and many of these companies, just like Amazon, feared that vital information would be leaked. And so they began tracking and monitoring our movements and conversations. Somehow, the corporate world had lost trust in the world they made. Running away wasn’t an option. We had to catch up!
Then people started talking of a pandemic, but none of us paid real attention. After all, we had our struggle and adopting another one didn’t feel possible. Each day the government would propose a different measure, only to throw it out. But as the number of deaths rose, and their theatrics became increasingly meaningless, the government became overwhelmed.
Then they started imposing extreme measures. For once it seemed it would let the economy die for our sake. Soon we were quarantined, staying indoors and yearning for our freedom, surviving on rations from the state. My children had stopped going to school, keeping their dad company at home.
But work didn’t stop for me. In fact, with the exhilarating demand for online shopping, I found myself more and more hooked, though not by choice. And the pandemic didn’t stop, spreading its tendrils until the deaths multiplied and the situation became untenable. The virus mutated in the overwhelmed hospitals. Violence broke out as more and more people rebelled against order to stay indoors. The streets were unsafe. As more fighting erupted, people moved further and further away. But there was no escape. As they moved, the people carried their greed and violence with them, letting them loose over the land, a blanket of pain and desperation. It wasn’t long before most employees at Amazon were prohibited from interacting with those outside the facility for fear of spreading the virus inside the facility. I stopped seeing my family almost entirely. In a war of infinites, there isn’t always room for negotiation.
This situation obviously couldn’t last, and it wasn’t long before the struggling economy took its last breath. Even Amazon couldn’t survive. I stumbled out of the Amazon building one afternoon, blinking in the too-bright sun, and stood with my mouth hanging open at the chaos that surrounded me. The city was nearly deserted, cars lined the streets haphazardly, abandoned by their drivers when they ran out of gas. Broken windows indicated that stores had been looted; there was likely little of worth left at this point.
It had never occurred to me that I couldn’t just stumble home and find my husband and children. But looking around now, I knew that was impossible. They had likely left – I hoped they had. It was the only hope I had left. I never dared hope to reconnect with Claret and Cindy, with my husband. I only hoped that they were alive somewhere, together, safe.
But, though I had deserted it, hope never deserted me, and the day came when I was reunited with Claret and Cindy. They had been separated from their father for some weeks but had found a safe home among one of the many roaming bands of humans. The leader, Hendrick, was kinder than most, and we stayed with them, always on the search for our missing family member. Who knows? Maybe one day we’ll find him.