morning coffee: They

They’re onto me.

I’m not completely sure who they are, and I’m not sure why they’ve chosen me in particular, but one thing is clear: they’re onto me.

Whenever I pass by someone’s office on my way to the bathroom, they always pause and look up at me. I can see it in their eyes: they suspect me. I’ve seen too much. I know the machine too well. I’m a counterfeit. A thief. A double-agent. A sheep in wolf’s clothing. I must be stopped before I report the things I see to someone.

But I don’t actually know anything. If anything, I know nothing.

But I can’t tell them that I know nothing. If I do, then I’ll have to acknowledge that I know they’re onto me. And that’s something.

I’m stuck.

Then again, they may just suspect me of suspecting them. Whenever I’m working and someone passes by my office on their way to the bathroom, I notice them watching me through the open door. (Why is the door open? It’s usually shut.) I always pause, look up, and we make eye contact as they pass. Then the moment passes, they move out of sight, and I return to my work.

Is it possible that no one actually suspects me of anything? Is it possible that they’re not actually onto me?

There’s always a chance, but I can’t risk it. There’s too much at stake, even though I have no idea how much is actually at stake. And there’s no telling what might happen if I’m caught.

For now, I’ll just drink my coffee.

Word: machination

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