It's Not Me! | Mixed Media Project for the Sparks Fly Contest by Creative Sparks Community (7/18/25)

"Yes, you would," a voice returned. "Only if you'd let go and explore your deepest desires."

Frustrated, I shook my head, then dug inside the console and extracted my prescription and three them into my back of my throat.

With the first tune from the ride now stuck in my thoughts overriding my favorite one, I entered the elevator, headed straight to the back, and braced myself quietly against the wall so I could assess my co-workers.

Inside the conference room, all assigned to the project turned their heads upon my entrance. It wasn't my imagination when whispers surrounded my head. Canvassing the room, darts from my bloodshot eyes and landed upon the head of each.

I eased down quickly and quietly into the chair at the farthest end, noticing that the speaker totally ignored me. That was another issue rising up from the depths of my dissatisfaction.

"Perhaps you'll need that tune to get through the day," the voice in my head whispered.

I had to admit, the tune "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" was appropriate as I surveyed the table of co-workers whom I'd never consider placing on my friend list. The voice wasn't far off on that score.

As usual, the Monday morning meeting at exactly 10:00 a.m. proved unbearable. Suffocating air. Whining team members. Irritating lead manager's voice grating on my nerves. All combined to exacerbate the tension rising from my neck threatening to induce a migraine.

I almost missed my supervisor's terse throat-clearing tactic.

"Ms. Thomas, would you care to provide the findings from your research on the project," the irritating voice spoke in its subtle, demanding tone meant to embarrass me.

But today was different. Pushing the hairbrush under the sink and not giving a damn whether my hair was brushed aroused in me something long dormant, buried deep.

Pushing the uncomfortable conference room chair back harder than I intended, I rose slowly and smiled confidently as if in a horror scene where all is well and one doesn't suspect the boogey man with an axe aimed for your head is standing behind you.

All waited as I strolled toward the presentation board.

What happened next even I didn't foresee. Everyone gasped as the words I spoke didn't reflect the images projected on the screen. One by one, photos of co-workers engaged in clandestine activities scrolled across the screen.

Shocked, I just stared at the projector.

"Wasn't that fun? Patricia," the voice from within teased loudly through the chaos.

But it wasn't fun. Or nice. Or appropriate. It was pure revenge for the unfair treatment these past five years.

The air was filled with panic. All jumped up from their chairs. Chairs tumbled over. Papers flew in the air. And feet shuffled quickly toward the conference room door carrying their embarrassed bodies away from condemnation to the safety of their cubicles. That wouldn't help them in the open space concept they all agreed on.

"What the hell was that," the irritating voice shouted from the podium.

I remained silent until my inner self forced me to shout back. Or was it me? I couldn't tell. But I allowed it to overtake my reason as I blurted out my version of five years of misery.

"The truth, which seems to have gotten lost in this company of late while you reward those climbed the ladder performing a different type of research on each other and not on the projects, has been outed."

My alternate self giggled. Inside, I felt a high five coming my way. When the dust settled, I found herself alone in the meeting room.

By the time I returned to her cubicle, silence filled the 40th floor. "Did everyone leave for lunch early? Or perhaps head home for the day to rethink their behaviors?" the voice taunted.

I didn't want to laugh, but did. Loudly, as a matter of face. I knew my fate, and welcomed it. I was tired. It's Not Me! I'd protested for too long. But was it? I pondered.

I saw no sense in remaining at work the rest of the day, so gathered my belongings just in case, and headed toward the elevator. This time alone.

"Of course, you'll have to find another job, Patricia. This time, before you accept the position, promise me that you'll allow your true self to walk through the door, or else risk a visit from me!" her alternate self urged while suppressing a laugh.

I agreed.

I shut the car door and exhaled. Pushing the knob again, I was rewarded with the stress reliever I longed for.

Bon Jovi, take me home!