Your Turn! (Saturday Writing Essential)
This Week’s Challenge:
Use a short story, poetry or prose to show a narrator’s point of view.
The station was closed. Kegan had checked twice to make sure DOPE (Departmental Office Processing Engine) had been properly shutdown for the night. Being the last employee to leave, it was of upmost importance to ensure the system was offline. There had been some strange things happening and the boss wanted to rule out the possibility of hackers.
The company, 4veriGREEN, had been in operation for twenty years. Now, with hard work and dedicated employees the business had became quite successful. That was, until the past few weeks. That’s when the customers had started calling, complaining about their grass being green on only one side or the other. This left the boss dumb-founded, not finding any solutions to the problem.
Kegan had just reached the edge of town when a soft, eerie glow started shinning through the window of the room he’d just left. DOPE was alive. What appeared to be equations were flashing quickly against a sickening, green-colored screen as if an intricate program was running.
Meanwhile, the boss, suffering from insomnia, decided to go by and check the office doors. As he pulled into a parking space in front of the office, he looked up at the window. Thinking there were intruders inside the building, he used his cell phone to call the police. About a half-dozen officers arrived, with shrill sirens cutting the stillness of the night. The boss waited outside while they, with guns drawn, went slowly inside to investigate.
They made a quick work of their search to make sure the premises were safe. Then, they called for the boss to come see how DOPE was acting. The boss was flabbergasted! He had never seen anything happen like this. He pushed the button to click the program off and reached under the desk to unplug the cord from the wall. The flashing numbers stopped. He began examining the processor first. Next, he reached for the monitor. Suddenly, there was a white blur that jumped out of a cubbyhole, falling against his hand. The boss jumped back, his face deathly pale. “Gadsooks!” he bellowed. Then, slowly, as the small squeaks of his son’s pet rat penetrated his fear, he began to laugh. With gentleness, the boss bent to recover Gregory, The Beloved, then turned and explained to the police how his son had likely lost his pet while visiting with his mother.
They all surmised how the little critter was probably unhappy being away from his nice comfy cage. It must have been hard, hiding during the day, and still not finding any love and nourishment when he was alone at night. In Gregory’s frustration, he was running across the keyboard and changing the formula code for the lawn treatment chemicals dispensed fresh every morning for the employees to load on their trucks.
All of this had caused many irate customers, because the grass was not greener on the other side