“Guess what day it is? Guess what day it is?”
The voice echoed down the hall; a seemingly impossible aural phenomenon in the land of carpeted floors and Dilbert-reminiscent cubicles. Had cartoons ever provided us with more than a feeble fleeting moment of entertainment? It was hard to remember.
“GUESS WHAT DAY IT IS?”
Sandy turned to us, her eyes full of fear.
“He’s back,” she whispered, fidgeting nervously with her glasses. After the incident, Sandy no longer wore contacts: the barter trade in our new society put vanity eyewear at too high of a cost. We had never told Sandy, but we liked her in glasses better, anyway.
“The camel, it’s back.”
A corner was turned, we could hear those hoofsteps, unmuffled by the carpet, which perhaps had only ever been a shared illusion of the dying and desperate. “WHAT DAY IS IT!” Not even a question, not anymore. It was always only ever one day.
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