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A quiet, soft lullaby lazily drifted through the dry, frigid air. Battered old speakers were mounted on street lights, with black chords trailing down to the concrete. If eyes were bleary enough, humor riddled with enough melancholy they appeared to be robot snakes slithering up metal monoliths, hissing at passers by. Echoes of the child's cheery whisper faded into the blaze orange horizon. The child was no doubt dead now... or zombified. The difference was negligible. Her voice had been harnessed, recorded, digitally sifted, and mixed; her voice was now a hoarse whisper. Perhaps she was now mute, her tongue having been cut out. Who was to be sure?

Nora tucked her chin into her rough, old jacket. She had picked it up from a thrift store recently. It smelled foul, but it was reasonably priced. She guessed that it had been recycled from old potato sacks. Her small, slender hands crawled out of the cavernous sleeves, beet red. She thrashed them against her thighs, then pulled down her tassel hat over her ears. For a moment, she reached under the hat and felt the sand paper stubble carpeting her scalp. She frowned. Last week, a fellow employee's hair got caught a machine. A horrid, grinding noise ensued as her skull was ground into powder. Her shoulders proved to be too hard for the machine to digest, but it persistently held on to the convulsing body. Finally, the engine overheated and the corpse flopped to the ground, where Human Resources personnel plucked it up, concealed it in a black, plastic bag, and carried it away. The small bonus for safety was revoked. Barbers were brought in. The ordeal was traumatic for some. The ordeal was mandatory for all. The cost of the barber's labors would be deducted from next week's pay check. Merry Christmas.

Small snow flakes fell from the gray sky. They gathered on the tables in the park, obscuring the inlayed chest boards. Nora saw two homeless men, sitting on a bench, their loaded shopping carts parked near by. They were both hunched over a glowing portable television set. Nora couldn't ignore the alluring warmth of the screen. She wondered how they could be so poor and yet still afford a few channels. She herself had been unable to pay for the past two months of television service, so she had been disconnected. She sometimes turned it on, and watched the static, imagining that shapes and hidden messages were woven into them. As a child, she used to lie on her back and stare at the big puffy, summer clouds, crafting them into animals with her imagination. Such times were long since buried. Smoke stacks now clogged the skies.

There was a Christmas special which was showing light displays from upper class neighborhoods. A towering green pine tree, glittering with tinsel and light bulbs, filled the frame. The common mind had since abandoned hope of seeing such a magnificent specimen in nature. They were grown in laboratories and sold at auctions for outrageous sums of money. The two homeless men, once aware of her presence, turned around and glared at her, resentful that she should try and freeload off their hard-earned pleasure. She turned around and consoled herself. She was better than those damn grubby bastards anyway. At least, she still thought she was. Her parents were of solid lineage, but that no longer mattered. The world was a meritocracy now, and shifts in the labor market, global paradigm, and quarterly outlook had jeopardized her position. She groaned to have television once more. She needed something loud to break up the silence, something bright and flashy to illuminate her apartment in the nights. It was quite unusual to not have TV... quite suspicious actually. What was there to do with silence but grow discourteous, rancorous, and rebellious?

The hour struck twelve noon, and the electronic music abruptly stopped. There were actually no bells in the clock tower, which had a digital display, but the speakers churned out a synthesized rendition of church bells long since destroyed. Nora stiffly turned to face the clock tower, located in the literal center of the city. A monstrous American flag crowned the building, barely held aloft on its pole by the wind. After the bells were finished, a stern voice came over the speakers.

"Please stand and observer the Pledge of Allegiance." Fifteen seconds of silence followed as people prepared for the daily ritual. Nora placed her right hand over her chest, her back erect and her eyes wide open, filling with tears in the blistery, chilly air. "I pledge allegiance"

"I pledge allegiance" Nora said loudly and firmly. In the distance, she could hear the mumblings of the two homeless men—what slobs.

"to the flag"

"to the flag"

"of the United States of America"

"of the United States of America"

"and to the Republic"

"and to the Republic"

"for which it stands"

"for which it stands"

"one nation"

"one nation"

"under God"

"under God"

"indivisible"

"indivisible"

"with liberty and justice for all."

"with liberty and justice for all."

"Thank you." Nora finally relaxed, wiping her eyes. The daily news began. Nora resumed her walk again, remembering that she had only twenty minutes left in her lunch break. It was a special privilege, which had somehow survived through all the other cutbacks on the job. On Sundays, the job started at 5:00 a.m. instead of 4:30 a.m. There was a twenty minute mass that began at 7:40 a.m. Finally, there was a forty minute break at 12:20 p.m., where employees could actually leave the facility and walk a brief distance to get some food. Many of the restaurants were owned by the same company as the factory, and employees could get a ten cent discount on their meal if they bought a glass of beer with it. The beer tasted like piss, but alcohol is alcohol, and it certainly warmed one up on days like this.

The decent tables, near the heater and television, were all taken. Nora was forced to sit in a chair near the drafty entrance. A constant lick of winter harassed her the nape of her neck. She could smell the greasy food being prepared in the kitchen. A crowd cheered on some football team. Predictions, bets, and curses permeated the atmosphere. The waitresses flirted among the men, refilling drinks, and picking up tips. Nora envied their beauty, their power, their money. She envied them despite the dark side of their profession, which was known by all but recognized by none. Being a waitress was just a front for prostitution and drug peddling. Girls were plucked from the streets like fresh fruit, pumped full of opiates, sucked dry, and released as haggish dope-fiends. The transformation was so drastic, so remorseless, that a pedestrian could hardly connect the bedraggled, toothless ghost with the vivacious, sprightly "lass" she used to be.

The probability of getting served today was low. She went unnoticed when she walked in... or was being ignored on purpose. Word had most likely gotten around about the accident, and it probably didn't put the workers in a positive light. Nora had not been a dedicated regular to any one restaurant, so she held no clout with the establishment. She stood up and wandered towards the gathering, pretending to take interest in the game. As she went along, she kept her eyes peeled for unattended meals. In the end, Nora managed to walk out with only a few scraps of food: a handful of soggy french-fries, a stale biscuit, a sausage, and a packet of butter.

A harsh, shrieking buzzer signified the end of lunch break. Nora had arrived just in time to hear it sound. She pulled the morsels out of her pockets and stuffed them into her cheeks. She decided to savor the food, slowly sucking it down over the next few hours. Her job was to insert sheet metal into a machine, where it was then formed into a shape. A fellow worker on the other side of the machine stacked the metal on a trolley, and sent it down to the assembly room. A feverish pace animated the crew, which wanted to make amends with management as quickly as possible. The foreman circled around the work area like a vulture, scowling at anyone who displayed lack of vigor.

Raggedy, grimy motivational posters hung on the charcoal-black wall. The water used to cool the machine turned into a thick steam that obscured vision with every exertion. The elevator music competed with the clangor of the machines for entrance to each worker's ear. A code of silence was imposed upon the workers. Talk could possibly result in conspiracy or sabotage. Nora wiped sweat off her brow and felt the back of her head. She was disgusted by how the veins bulged out from her scalp.

The buzzer rang once again, signifying the end of the day. It was 7:30 p.m. A headache filled Nora's skull. Her brains would either be crushed or her cranium would shattered. Her shaved head was bright red, like a boiled lobster. Her ears rang. She reached into her locker, number 1764. All the employees stood in line within the confines of the stockyard, staring dumbly at the cityscape. Each employee was frisked for stolen items and had their identification cards checked. A rusty bus pulled up next to the curb outside the gates; diesel fumes poured from its exhaust pipe. In the background, attentive ears might hear the limousines of lesser administration slipping away from the premises. The greater administration had already left at noon.

On the bus, the woman broke their fast of gossip, letting loose in a whirlwind of chatter. Some made plans to go drinking. Some discussed what they would do if they won the next lottery prize. Some complained about the irascible nature of all men. Some blathered on about the volleyball team. Some laid bare their hopes of saving money for dance lessons. Nora kept to herself.

Stray cats scampered through the hallways of Nora's apartment complex. Feral animals were a plague that ran rampant through the whole city. Nora walked up a flight of stairs and reached her apartment. It was a small, drab box. Nora took her coat off, went into the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, popped a few pills, and turned on the television. The gentle light of static eased her into a dark, quiet slumber.