A Nonsense Conspiracy
The stanza was about to start as i thought it was about to. After seamless days staring at black and white papers, i m alredy half-way in my dream to become a hardisc, well atleast a faulty but still functional recorder that can only hold window 98 version of word documents. I wasn't a bit worry that i was crapping the opposite way but then hey, who would care about that when you have quarantine urself in a small, tiny cubicle with a table full of black and white docement and have been feeding one piece of bread for every document analysed.
Then suddenly a remiscence of a previous long forgotten nite came back in flash, like vision appearing that foretell something you have obviously missed. The nite was young when i remember that was the last time i was still young and still possess a human mind. I meet someone particularly at a place that was far, far away but actually next door, and the place was called the cafeteria or SA.
An immediate thought of exotically fragrant roti canai smell that never seem to be lacking and always give your clothes a smell that is hard to forget or wash away. The thought propelled me to another fact that my nestle chicken rice always lack cucumbers, which may an indication the cook don't like me or prejudice in a sense. I was on a business trip of considering whether the nestle chicken rice was a financially viable option or the economy rice which is something economical but then sometimes not. But in the end, i chose economy rice which sounds nicer but then i got rip off again which reminds me of being rip off all the time by the 'economic' rice guy.
Anyway, on my journey to the fly-infested nest called the 'table' in cafeterian terms,i managed to isolate myself at the edge of a long table which seems to be out of sight of the flies. Munching, grinding and perhaps half-choking, i manage to mechanically digest the food before it went into my stomach and stuck there as usual, needing a plumber to occasionally check the system. Such are the fates of the SA regurlars.
During my losing-appetite meal, i discover there were two familiar faces who were facing the same fate as me, munching the doctor-won't-recommended dishes. They were chatting happily, perhaps ignorant of the ill-karma that circles around us: the flies. An omen, perhaps as bad or even worsen than the cicada crisis was about to befoul me. Dismissing such concern, i concerntrate into the surround noise that seems to besiege me from all angles.
As i delve into their seemingly normal conversation, i manage to catch some glimpse of words, words that seem to imply somethings. Three word caught my attention were medicine, stress and insufficient time. All of them pointed to one obvious conclusion; too much medicine is stressful and use up a lot off ur time. That can only mean one thing: Pharmacy.
My mind reel from this suddenly shocking revelation, and a burst of information stream out in forms of images as my subconscious try to comprehend the scale of this conspiracy. Bridges and connection were made between vague pieces of memory. Relationship were form and the random facts were starting to make sense.
Now it makes almost perfect sense. Then it dawn to be i was too late.
From the second we set our foot beyond the gates of nottingham, we are already ensnare in a contigency of masterminds-lay plan. First the interview to lessen suspicion, then the letter of offer to remove doubts. The orietation was perfectly coordinate to exhaust further growing thoughts. Over the semester, combination of stress, excessive lectures and exhaustive lab reports were dosed on student to weaken mind resistant and make them more susceptible to suggestion. Finally the last straw was self-study exams to complete the finishing move of the evil plan of controlling the feeble minds of the exams-obsessed and make them bow to their will.
But then i was too late. But even so i have to stop them. But then i realised i was too late to save myself. I was alredy deep within their trap that i had no way out. I was going to the toilet...
Inspired by Pre Exam Traumatic Stress Syndrome PETSS
" It doesn't make sense at all"
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