In the Pre-Frontal Cortex Department, Brain and Co. I ran as fast as I could to deliver my package, almost skidding across the floor. Navigating through throngs of neurons, I rushed into the dendrite conference room, delivering my package before moving on to my next task. From the corner of my eye, I noticed a fellow axon, rushing to send the decision to the next location. It was not the most interesting job, just ferrying packages back and forth, yet there was some sense of purpose. Amongst the chaos of running employees, there was an organized plan of action, which gave me a sense of security. I studied for months to be a part of the neural sector, despite many of my previous friends specializing in cardiology and pulmonology. I had worked here for about 25 years, with the guarantee I would not lose my job. I mean the economy will crash without us, you know. The other day, I heard about the collapse of the Right Radius Limited, in the Ortho sector, and how they were rebuilding the company from the remains. At least our job is usually okay. Yet, like any job, it’s easy to find complaints. It’s better than Extended Amygdala, my mind echoed, remembering the complaints from my friend in that department. She would have to sort through a number of negative packages, turning them into “anxiety” and “unease” protocols to highlight when the organization was in trouble. There were always many false alarms, but it was important as a precautionary measure. In my opinion, that department had too much power. It could wreak havoc in a second, blaring alarms and inducing panic, ignorant of whether it was a false alarm. Even Basal Ganglia, the happy, recreational space is quite intimidating. Imagine being the group responsible for making sure everyone is happy, even controlling the pay grade? Yikes. That sounds like a lot of effort, and a lot of people after you constantly. Anyways, I could rant forever about the different departments at this company. It's a complicated, but cohesive group and I’m sure not much can change that. A couple months later: I jumped, startled by the sudden intruder. He strolled in, back straight, chest puffed out with a huge smile on his face. Everyone around me slowed down for a moment, trying to make sense of our sudden visitor. I then noticed two large duffel bags in his hands, weighing him down. “Guess what everyone” he announced, his cheery tone attempting to mask another emotion. He seemed suspicious, as if he was about to do something bad. His happiness seemed almost villain-like. Yet, when he opened his bags, it was filled with money. A robbery?!? No, it can’t be. I noticed 2 heads of the Basal Ganglia come from behind him, “we’ve all decided to give you a reward!” they announced. Immediately, everyone broke out into smiles and laughter. Shrugging off my initial judgments, I rejoiced with my colleagues pointing and laughing at all the money stashed they were giving out. This was not a regular bonus, it was crazy. Almost triple my salary! After our impromptu celebration, we all went back to work wondering whether this could ever happen again. Can it happen again? Would our charitable intruder return? With these questions bouncing around in our minds, we went to work feeling better than ever. 3 years later: Surrounded in a stockpile pile of money, I wanted more. I needed more. My eyes darted around erratically trying to look for our next shipment. After a few moments, I was irritable at the lack of money flowing in my direction. It was supposed to be continuous, endless. Why did it stop? Our system had upgraded from a couple providers, to an organized squad. They were negotiating to get more money from the Basal Ganglia, ready to push out more cash. They were being too slow. “WHERE IS THE MONEY?” I bellowed adding to the cacophony that my colleagues had begun. As the chaos started, members of the extended amygdala started ringing alarms. The economy was suffering, if we did not get our money, things would go downhill. “HERE!” one of the guys screamed, throwing cash in our direction. Our group scrambled to get as much as we could. “THIS IS NOT ENOUGH” somebody screamed, looking at the fistful of money in her hands with disgrace. “We need more” she stated, staring at the man who gave it to her. “Okay okay, we’ll get more” more alarms started ringing, as each individual contributed to the cause. A moment of sanity crept into mind. What are you doing, where is the organization, what happened? I never imagined that the crazy bonus 3 years ago would have destroyed our company. It was already in ruins, most of the departments working at a bare minimum. We barely transported packages, and “anxiety”, “unease” and “stress” were part of our daily routine. How we descended into this madness, no one knows. But now, we’re here and we want money. 10 years later: My mind drifted, as it often does, to the crisis that happened a decade ago. I remember our state, the absolute mayhem that happened. All of us, lined up like rabid dogs, ready to do anything to fulfill our endless hunger for money. Even now, I get urges to help hijack the basal ganglia, and strong arm them to give us rewards. Yet, I stop myself every time, remember the stories I heard about what we were taught. We were controlled by the drugs, the people who would supply us money. They manipulated us, making us thirst for monetary rewards, stopping us from working, ruining our mind. Other companies mocked us for not resisting the temptation, but it was not simply a temptation. We were goaded into this vicious cycle, forced again and again to beg, borrow, steal. I heard about the “The Mind and Co.” from the next town, and how they were utterly destroyed. One day, it became too much, and they all succumbed to the eventual defeat of their company. The whole economy crashed, and the town was wiped off the map. Our town, Andrew Fletcher, still stands, despite the hardships it went through. We made it, and that matters. A message from the higher levels told us it was not our fault. “My past with drug abuse was a dark one, and despite the people blaming my morals that was not the problem. The drugs messed with my system, and almost tore it apart. This is a disease, not a choice” - Andrew Fletcher Even now, I know that it’s unfair that when other companies break apart, everyone comes to their rescue. If cardio pauses for a moment, they’re given extra help. If the ortho can’t continue, they’re given a cast for support. But us? “It’s just your mindset” “Just stop, it’s wrong to continue” “It’s not that hard”

“I will stay outside!” a young ant, Alex, screamed. “But the anteater is coming. We need to get to safety,” his friends tried to explain, amidst the deafening noise of panicking ants. “I WANT MY FREEDOM” Alex bellowed, standing firmly in place. He had riled up a gang of seven other ants, fools who believed their freedom was above their safety. Considering Alex, a hopeless cause, the other ants rushed to the security of the anthill. Granted, there was almost no space, bodies pressed together in a sweaty soup. It would be extremely difficult to stay in the confines of this place for such a long time, unable to breathe the fresh air. Yet, they would be safe. Alex and his squad roamed about freely, sashaying across the grass completely carefree. They laughed and joked, while the rest of the ants prepared for the lock-down in their home. They mocked the ant community claiming that there were no anteaters, that it was all fake. Bursting with ego, they claimed that they were invincible, the anteaters could never take them down. Thump, thump, thump. The ants with the anthill internally screamed, desperately wishing that Alex and his troop would return home safely. They hoped that his arrogance would not kill him. All of a sudden, a giant monster emerged. The anteaters were coming. Their tongues investigated the rocks, turning them over, looking behind, looking for any ants. Yet, Alex and his comrades pranced around gaily, ignorant of the danger around them. This was not naivety, this was arrogance. Moments later, horror struck. The anteater’s tongue snaked around 2 of his friends, gulping them immediately. Their screams were drowned out by the crunch of their bones. The others ran in fright, trying to get back to the anthill. Little did they know what would happen. The anteater followed them, leading him right to the treasure trove. One swipe and the entire structure fell over, revealing hundreds of terrified ants. The anteater ate them like they were tic-tacs, gulping 50 at once. The elders were trapped, while the young fled in every direction, avoiding the monster among them. Alex ran to a rock and sat there still shaking. He shivered realizing the horror of what he had done. I want to live his mind called out desperately. I am sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you… I am sorry… he wailed internally. Is freedom worth the risk? Living in a pandemic, that is the question we should answer.

I really need food, the young clown fish thought as he swam through the murky waters. His bright orange scales contrasted sharply with the otherwise dark and filthy expanse of liquid. It really couldn't be considered water anymore. He looked past the corals, which were covered in thin plastic bags that had managed to drift over. Streamers of garbage floated around it, giving it a frighteningly ghoulish appearance. Turning his head away from the scene, he swam in a different direction, desperately wishing for food, some that was hopefully not poisoned. His eyes widened as he ducked to avoid the incoming water bottle. He continued to move in a zig-zag motion, avoiding the menagerie of trash that traveled his way with the current. Hours later, he settled on partially clean can, tired of his unyielding search. His eyes wandered,dreaming of a clean world, the ones his family told him about. The crystal clean waters, colorful reefs, it was all gone. His parents were gone, after a harsh battle with a heartless net. He shuddered at the memory of his parent's hopeless faces as they desperately tried to swim away, eventually succumbing to their fate. They're probably in a better place than I am. Hearing his growling stomach, he figured it was best if he continued his hunt for food. He started to move when he was tugged back. Alarmed, the fish turned to see his fin stuck to the sharp edge of the can. He pulled harder and harder, afraid it was the end. With one last tug, he flew off, a piece of his fin still stuck to the can. His caudal fin searing in pain, he swam, his need for food much greater. Forcing himself to move further, he saw his vision go blurry. Struggling to see, he managed to spot a small patch of seaweed at the bottom. A small beam of hope lit inside him. He raced to the patch as fast as he could go. He gobbled it all down, all the little bits. It tasted a bit funny, but it was probably his ravenous hunger. Settling there, his fin still in pain, he fell asleep. He slept, not knowing what he had eaten was plastic. Green and stringy, anyone would have thought it was seaweed. It wasn't his fault, it never had been. It was the people who ruined his home, ruined his life. He slept, not knowing that above him, the world was a similar hell of trash and garbage. That the once-miracle invention, plastic, had become the single reason for the world's ultimate destruction.