When Will It End?

Like quail in a field, the chirping is quiet. One here's a sound, and the chirping grows louder. A few more join, and then the rest, and then the rest. Eventually it drowns out the work. All you hear is chirp, chirp, chirp. And then, the shotgun gets fired across the field in the form of a manager carrying an empty box. The chirping stops.

We are wary, and the chirping continues day in, and day out. It grows louder and then softens. An email sent at the wrong time of day, and the hunter steps on a dry branch. The chirping grows louder. A coworker gets invited to a meeting and you're not included, and birds a few fields over scatter across the sky. Louder. A manager calls while you're out and doesn't leave a voice mail message, and the brim of an orange hat pokes out from the brush. The sound is unbearable.

I find myself chirping along, wondering when the shotgun blast will come.

Chirp, chirp…Like a crack of lightning, it hits the chair next to yours. The chirping is silenced. We poke our heads out looking for the all clear…chirp, chirp, chirp.

BANG, three cubes over.

All is quiet.

It's safer now. We chirp silently via instant messenger and email. We dare not look up from our work or enter the clearing. No matter how long between blasts the chirping continues and we know that the hunter is out there. Waiting.