The Server.
(written during a service outage. fingerpainted on my iphone with brushes app).

Day one. The server's down.





They say they are moving it to a new location and improving services. But i know it's bouncing around in the back of a pickup near Tijuana. A man, a kid at the time of the dot com crash, is sitting on top of it and he's playing with a revolver and here is a bottle of Jose Cuervo perched on the CD tray. Mercifully it's almost empty.





Day two. It’s a Tequila sunrise.

Raul's head bumped on something in the dark room. Empty bottles clattered. A little light filtered through the broken slats, just enough to make the damp cement floor glisten. A voice in his head was saying "more, only gets worse" and it came to him through the fog.

The server.

Had he plugged in the mail server? He closed his eyes and laid his head back on the floor with an audible thump.

It didn't matter anyways, the generator had run out of gas hours ago.




Day three. A senseless waste of life.







Mack, tried the door. It was unlocked. He had learned a long time ago
to check before kicking them down. However much fun it might be.

- Looks like we got a runner.

- Dammit. That's the third this week.

There was an evil smell. Shafts of light penetrated the room like
unwelcome guests churning thick grey smoke into Carrara marble.

- Maybe not.

A green glow from the computer illuminated a collection of clear empty
bottles. A body lay on the floor. The right hand grasped a telephone.
There was a queer smirk on it's face.

Mack didn't need to touch him to know that he was already cold.

- Looks like the phone help got him. Call central and send over a
clean-up crew.

He picked up the reciever and put it back in place.

# Press one for sales, press two for support, press three now if you
already know your extension...
# Press one for sales, press two for support, press three now if you
already know your extension...
# Press one for sales, press two for support, press three now if you
already know your extension...

- 24/7 my butt, the poor gaffer didn't stand a chance.

# Hello this is Raul, email server 33453, it's bad here. Green stuff
is coming out of the back of the machine and it don't sound so good.
You'd better send someone over quick.
# Press one for sales...
# He broke the seal on another bottle - more only get's worse - and
he giggled.
Mack sidestepped the corpse and pressed Ctrl, Alt and Delete on the
grimy keyboard.

- And tell them the server's up.