Anonymous - A Flash Fiction
We all look the same to you.
Dress us in black and muted colors, in uniforms that designate us by role, not by name.
Pack us in squares with gray rug-covered walls that we are free to decorate within anxious corporate guidelines.
Keep us "backstage" out of the public eye. Hold out just enough impossible hope that we step on each other for the brass ring.
We could be the fixtures, the appliances, the automatic doors.
To you, we are simply cogs in the machine. Background. Forgotten.
We are anonymous.
You order the clam chowder.
It will not be clean.
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I am updating these in a podcast feed (dubbed "Radio Free Steven the Nuclear Man" by Laurence). You can subscribe with this link (http://feeds.feedburner.com/Ideatrash) in your podcatcher or phone. You can also read and hear the rest of the entries at the 100 Word Stories podcast site.