The meeting, already having had exceeded an hour and seeming as if there were still hours to go, drudged along as if it were a living thing, a slow-stalking, life-threatening, monstrously evil thing. Slide after slide after unrelenting and enervating slide flashed upon the screen and ate away at the brainspace of each of the meeting’s participants. And the screen, reactionary and vindictive, hung over the room like a dystopian all-seeing eye. Watching each participant as if they were a guilty usurper. A potential prisoner. A habeas corpus-less detainee. The meeting became an interrogation. Each slide became an accusation. A crime in search of a criminal. Slide! Slide! Slide! Slide! A waterboarding of slides.
The meeting droned on like a drone checking off its kill list in a holy war without end.
Still, notes were being taken and questions were being asked. If not, they win. Even still, amidst all the note-taking, amidst all the questioning, all knew that all had to have known, though it went religiously unsaid, that each slide, while contributing somewhat to their individual livelihoods, took from them an irreplaceable piece of their lives. Still, all knew that all had to have known that it would be more humane for them, even heroic of them, if, instead of death by a thousand cutting slides, something definite, something uncharacteristically finite, something true and merciful and just were to actually happen in the meeting — an improvised exploding projector? — and they all were to meet their sudden demise. And they all were to become holy martyrs for the sacred cause.