Mute

I take off mute only to say whether I’ve finished the ticket or not. I haven’t finished it.

I say it with the mic on and my head down, as if chewing grass.

They want to deploy the functionality from that ticket, one more button in the world.

I don’t want more buttons. Too many form validations, I suppose.

The whole project is made of forms. One after another, like forge bars in a fence.

I remember that when I was young I said everything, absolutely everything. Too much of that everything thing.

319 million words counted so far, good and bad, in the manner of people, good and bad, in the manner of words.

The truth doesn’t like people. You’ll end up without friends, they told me, and I kept validating forms.

I don’t want to talk anymore, I’ve said everything I had to say — typical.

I take the microphone from the headset and snap it in half.

It makes the same sound as breaking a tree branch.

You’re on mute, they tell me, they shout, hoping in vain that I’ll tell them yes, that I’ll finish the ticket, that I’ll add the button, that I’ll validate the form.

But I can’t hear them; they’re too far away, like the trees in the forest.