They run in packs like ravenous wolves into the corridors. They run with tongues hanging out and arms stretched forward. They run over printers and company menials. Primal shrieks horrors through the office.
“This way forward!”
Rob takes the lead. He squeals as he sniffs the air and sets off towards the last room in the hall. The rest of the workers follow closely as a human tail. He kicks open the door with a roar.
There it is.
Streams of sunlight shine upon its ambrosial layers of feathery cream. Like a sleeping baby, they approach with careful steps.
“Good Luck Tim!” is written in red frosting. Streams of color pours down its spongy sides like warm splooge.
“Who the fuck is Tim?”
No one knows.
They hover around it in circles. Squints at each other with bloodspattered eyes. Dripping saliva forms small puddles on the floor. A scrawny intern finally grabs the knife. He trembles. Does not know where to place the first cut. Janet hitch it.
“Give it!” She growls.
With full force she impales the cake core. Cream splatters up on the walls. She snickers as she cuts herself a too big slice. Panting exhales goes like a wave through the room.
It is survival of the fattest. They throw themselves over it, into it. They indulge without hands. Sweaty faces compete aggressively for the juiciest parts, slippery tongues accidentally interlace in the battle. They crave more, more, more. In the matter of seconds the workers fall to the ground and pass unconsciously into a sugarcoma.
The centerpiece of the cake is left mysteriously untouched.
Almost half an hour goes by before the intern gathers the courage to sneak out from the shadows. He hasn’t gotten any yet. Crooked, he makes his way towards the last piece. His intestines are twisting raucously as he gets closer and closer. Suddenly, an earpitching squeak cuts him off. It’s Janet. She has woken.
She fondles her patchy-haired abdomen as she begins moving towards him. Her eyes fills with sick pain as she wheezes,
“Do you want that last piece?”
“No, no, you take it.”
Her neck cracks and crumbles as her head begins spinning.
Faster and faster.
She laughs loudly.
“No, really, I WANT you to have it! I shouldn’t! I’m on a diet, hehe.”
A pair of yellow whetted tusks exposes as she smiles politely.
“I want you to have it…”
The intern slowly picks up the last piece. He hesitates. Janet hasn’t blinked in minutes.
As he begins chewing the familiar taste of iron blends into the sweetness. Hidden needles rupture the inside of his throat. He kneels down on the saliva soaked floor.
“How bout that?” Janet gambols towards him and licks a bit of frosting from his cheek. Into his bleeding ears she whispers the first and foremost foundation of office etiquette,
“Thou shall never,
Never ever, take the last piece.” ❏
Amanda Krepp is a writer based in Amsterdam.