Feeding the Beast

I feed a beast everyday. This beast is one of the most integral parts of my organization. Nothing would be accomplished if the beast’s hunger wasn’t satiated. The whole of the organization would come crashing down around the professional employees’ ears. Many would stand in dumbstruck horror as the beast, disabled by its almost perpetual appetite, stood silent – ground to a halt by the lack of caloric intake.

As it is, only a few brave souls dare brave the beast’s dangerous and darkly satanic hunger pains. Us brave few, we calm the monster; know how to assuage its demands; how to tame the raging tiger best so the rest of our staff can safely continue their day, as if none of us were in mortal danger.

I have taken to using the crazed creature only in limited quantities – I take no chances of rousing the anger of the gods – it would be akin to poking a sleeping bear or taunting a trapped bull, stuck in a corner with no hope of escape. To ensure a safe passage into the beast’s world, I always submit an offering. No matter how limited or sparing, the offer is taken into consideration by the static creature and it grants me safe passage.

Having proffered the beast my gift with humbly bowed head, and a cross of the fingers for a successful cooperative venture with the creature, I slip my request into its cold jaws and allow the beast to do its job. Take my work and make it more. Make it plentiful. Make it into hundreds of cloned copies. I rarely breathe while my work is in the beast’s capable innards, if any air escapes me, it is a quick prayer for a quick and fruitful end to my appeal.

The slightest growl leaves me spasming in terror as I imagine the horror of crawling through the creature’s inner workings to relieve its pain, to fix its soul before it will spring to life again at the touch of my fingers. Sometimes, if the damage is too much, if the beast decides to self-terminate without warning, to attack my person with foul directions and orders, I call in help. The beast is not averse to tying up the attention of two fully capable college-educated adults.

And yet, not many will take the time to learn the gentle tricks needed to calm the beast; the ability to quench its desires so the rest of the staff can tread with success and make a hasty retreat back to their own cubbies. These types are the ones who rouse the beast, who antagonize the creature stirring in the small, hot, crowded room. After using the monster, they, often, run as fast as they can from its cave – not bothering to replenish the required food source.

It is then that I wander into the dank little room and face sharply glaring red “eyes” while a clanging klaxon, capable of waking the dead, blares from the beast’s very mouth. Using what guile I can muster, I locate and grab the quickest food source and hastily hurl the needed nourishment into the belly of the beast. I utter curses suitable for the devil himself when someone has carelessly left behind a growling monster.

Then, when the monster has eaten his fill, I press the start button and my copies pop out the other end.