55 posts tagged with "Absurdity"

The night was deep, and the neon lights of Paris streets flickered like blurred eyes. Jean-Pierre sat by the window of a café, his coffee had long gone cold. He stared at his phone screen, where the words “Step synchronization failed” were displayed, a red exclamation mark mocking his efforts.

He wasn't an ordinary French soldier; he was a navigator on the nuclear submarine "Le Triomphant." His daily steps, which might just be a number for others, were related to national security for him. Or so he originally thought.

Liu Qiang tightened his down jacket and rubbed his hands, which were red with cold. The glass curtain wall of the company building reflected the city's neon lights, like a cold mirror, showing his tired face. Today is the last day of the New Year shopping festival. At eight o'clock tonight, JD.com will release the last wave of discounts. For him, this is not just about grabbing New Year goods, but a battle concerning his dignity.

"Liu Qiang, what are you staring at the screen for? Your performance hasn't met the target today, and you're still in the mood to browse Taobao?" Supervisor Zhang Jie's voice was like an ice pick, chilling his back.

Li Mei, in her small nail salon, worked like a precise machine. Every day, she repeated the motions of filing, painting, and drying, the smell of nail polish filling the cramped space. She was used to the endless chatter of customers and their pickiness about new styles and colors. She knew that in this city, no one really cared about her, except her landlord, the old man who came to collect rent on time every month.

Her biggest dream was to save enough money to renovate her old home in her hometown, providing her parents with a more comfortable retirement. And everything she painstakingly did each day seemed only to satisfy the fleeting vanity of these fashionable city girls.

The lunch break bell rang like a pardon, and Liu Qiang immediately put down his keyboard. He rubbed his tired eyes and got up to go to the cafeteria. Just then, the department manager, Lao Wang, walked to his workstation, a mysterious smile plastered on his face.

"Xiao Liu, there's a glorious task that only you can handle!" Lao Wang patted Liu Qiang's shoulder, the force nearly knocking him off balance.

Lao Wang felt that his life was like a wind-up toy, spinning every day to the tune of the "rush" bell.

He rode his dilapidated electric bike, weaving through the concrete jungle of the city. His bike basket was always filled with packages of all sizes, each with a bright red "rush" label. Lao Wang's ears seemed glued to the phone's speaker, the constant stream of urgent prompts like a rapid drumbeat, making his nerves tense.

Old Wang was known as the "honest guy" in the company. He arrived at work on the dot every day, diligently sat in front of his computer, and the sound of his keyboard tapping was just like an old sewing machine. His department was responsible for data processing, a mind-numbingly boring task. While other colleagues chatted about hot topics during lunch break, like the latest popular TV series or celebrity scandals, Old Wang would quietly munch on the steamed buns he brought from home, seemingly isolated from the world.

But recently, Old Wang had noticed something strange. His colleague, Xiao Li, was acting suspiciously every day, always tinkering with some oddly-shaped wooden lumps in the corner. Some of these wooden lumps looked like apples, some like pears, and some even like—persimmons. At first, Old Wang thought Xiao Li was playing with some new stress-relief toys, so he didn't pay much attention. Until one day, he accidentally saw Xiao Li shipping packages on an e-commerce platform, with addresses all over the country. It was then that he realized things were not as simple as they seemed.

The office lights stung the eyes. The clock on the wall listlessly pointed to ten o'clock. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city had plunged into darkness, with only scattered lights twinkling, like distant stars in the cosmos, indifferent and detached.

Old Wang rubbed his sore eyes, mechanically tapping on the keyboard. The dense code on the screen was like a menacing devil, tangling his nerves. He had been working overtime for two weeks straight, at least ten hours a day, sometimes even longer. He felt like a lemon that had been squeezed dry, leaving only an empty shell.

The gas station's bell rings on time, not a real bell, but a system notification sound. Every day at six in the morning, it announces the start of a new day in a mechanical yet slightly excited tone. "Go for it, working stiff!" The cartoon character on the screen waves its fist, its smile frozen, as if mocking.

Li Ming skillfully puts on his work hat, which is printed with "Today's Oil Price: 7.88 yuan/liter". This number changes every day, stimulating his nerves like a stock price. When it goes up, he sighs; when it falls, he feels disappointed, as if he has become a slave to oil prices.

Old Wang died, on the winter solstice night, as silently as the withered green ivy on his bedside, frozen and lifeless. No one knows the exact cause of his death, just as no one knows if he ever loved anyone in his life. All he left behind were the cold numbers in his bank account: four million three hundred thousand yuan, and a thirty-square-meter old apartment in the city center.

As usual, Old Wang's "estate" was put on public notice. The notice board was covered with dense small print, like a giant spiderweb, trying to capture anyone related to Old Wang. However, a month passed, then two, then half a year, and apart from a few routine inquiries, no one came forward to claim this “windfall.”

Lao Zhang’s workstation was always piled high with delivery boxes. He was an operations assistant at a live-streaming e-commerce company, and his daily work consisted of unpacking, sorting, and taking photos to send to his colleagues in the live-streaming room. Recently, the company had been heavily promoting a product called “Original Cut Beef Rolls,” which had been selling like hotcakes. The beef roll deliveries he unpacked each day were enough to fill half the office.

Lao Zhang found it a bit strange. The company’s warehouse wasn’t that big, so where did all these beef rolls come from? Curious, he picked up a box. The packaging was exquisite, with the red characters "Original Cut" particularly eye-catching. When he opened it, a rich, meaty aroma wafted out, and the texture looked real. But he felt that something was off, maybe he was just desensitized to the smell of beef after unpacking so many boxes recently.