2 – Drafting Death

Soon, as if that brief nap had lasted only a few minutes, the alarm clock rings, and James's routine begins anew, just as it has for these long 13 years.

We could say that James leads a rather mediocre life—or perhaps fulfilling for some. The problem is that James's routine was disrupted a few days ago, and the way things unfolded has disturbed his "peace."

At that moment, on that rainy night, James trembled under his sheets, hands clutching his head. In front of him lay an ordinary notebook—something any worker in his office could access.

It was a draft notebook that every employee was supposed to use for jotting down notes and staying on track during their daily journey. Upon arriving at the company, each person received their to-do list, which they were expected to memorize or record in their own notebooks. The lists were then incinerated to prevent low-class employees from circumventing the targets by helping one another. Each employee had to demonstrate consistent individual performance.

And what was written in that draft notebook was what troubled James. Due to an accident in the department where James worked, the megacorporation had to release all workers from that sector. Unbeknownst to James, he had brought the draft notebook home with him. On that specific day, Cliff, a morning shift worker, had defecated on James's belongings. After returning home and having nothing productive to do but drown in self-pity, James decided to write down what he wished would happen.

James wrote that he wanted Cliff to pay for what he had done and that something bad should happen to Cliff. James glanced at what he had written and simply dismissed that childish nonsense, opting to go to bed early. The next morning, everything returned to normal. However, three days after writing that nonsense, James received news that Cliff would no longer work for the megacorporation for some time. Cliff had suffered an accident and was hospitalized. Apparently, Cliff had fallen from his home window and was partially impaled by his anus and rib on a small fence.

Until then, it was just another piece of bad news. At least Cliff hadn't committed suicide like many other employees who broke under the pressures and demands of the megacorporation.

Life continued, and nothing changed—until one day, a new supervisor took charge. Eager to assert dominance over the other employees, he decided to use James as an example and began humiliating him due to his slow completion of tasks.

That was a particularly stressful day. James returned home after work, seeking an outlet for his anger that wouldn't cost him money. He decided to write another of his childish and malicious rants in the draft notebook. James wrote that he wished his new supervisor would stay quiet, pay more attention to his own work, and leave others alone.

Once again, James drifted off to sleep. The daily routine continued, and once more, after three days, shocking news arrived: The new supervisor had been attacked on his way home by a group of religious extremists. These zealots attempted to convert the supervisor to their faith, but instead of gaining a new follower, they were terribly cursed. Indignant, the fanatics dragged the supervisor into an alley, cut out his tongue, and stapled his eyes wide open so that the poor wretch would no longer utter profanities and could "see the truth" more clearly.

Despite surviving the attack by one of the many fanatical groups representing various crazy religions in the city, employees knew that the new supervisor's days were numbered. Medical treatments were prohibitively expensive, and his injuries might already be infected. In fact, the man's death was officially declared and communicated by James's department administrator a few days later.

James found the situation bizarre. How could anyone have the audacity to do such things to another human being? Upon arriving home, James picked up the draft notebook and read what he had written about the new supervisor: "I wish that this wretch would stay quiet longer so that he can pay more attention to his own work and leave us in peace."

A shiver ran down James's spine. It had to be a coincidence, albeit a bizarre and eerie one, right?

James pondered for a while—or rather, not even a full minute. His mind was too fatigued. James simply grabbed the pen and wrote in the draft notebook: "Robert is too proud. I wish he'd be more humble when speaking to others—an arrogant bastard." Then James went to sleep.

The same old routine repeated for three consecutive days, until James learned the shocking news: Robert had been brutally castrated. They had stripped away Robert's masculinity in the worst possible way. It seemed they had tied him to a counterweight, with the other end of the rope attached to Robert's manhood. The weight of the man, along with additional lateral weights, slowly tore Robert Jr. apart.

That night, back in his home after getting drenched in the rain (he had to jump off a broken public transport mid-journey), James stared at the draft notebook before him.

This time, he knew it wasn't a coincidence. Three people had died horribly—or were on their way to death—due to the absurd things he had written.

Fearing to use that cursed object, James decided to open his apartment window and throw away the draft notebook. He lay down in bed, expecting a long night of haunting revelations. The faces of his "victims" would surely haunt him during the early hours.

In theory, that's what should happen. But in practice, James fell into a deep sleep. His body was too fatigued to even ruminate on guilt and remorse.

When the alarm clock rang, James got up, went through the same cyclical routine flawlessly. The only variation on that new day was when he returned home and discovered that the draft notebook was once again on his bedside table, containing everything he had written in the past days.