Esteemed Colleagues,

My sincere apologies for the late notice, but I will be absent from this morning’s department meeting. I’m sending this email from my toilet where I’m currently trapped, because there is a cicada on the floor, blocking my exit. As I’m sure you can understand, this presents a vexing obstacle with no clear solution, much like the graphic and violent hardships that befell the characters in the Saw movie franchise. There is a good chance this is the last time you will ever hear from me. At the very least, I’ll be about an hour late.

As you may well know, I don’t “do” bugs. The only precedent I have for a situation this dire is the nauseating tension wrought by evil mastermind Jigsaw and portrayed in the cinematic Saw universe. Currently, my strategy is to simply wait it out. I fear that any sudden movement on my part will drive the cicada toward fatal retaliatory measures. At the moment, because the creature remains statue-still and difficult to read, he holds all the cards. He is my Jigsaw. Given the circumstances, when discussing each line item in today’s meeting, please ask Shana to take detailed minutes. If I get out of this predicament alive (the likelihood of which shrinks with each passing minute), I will want to know how the budget is looking.

My rationale for staying put on the toilet, pants around my ankles, while the corporate world marches ignorantly on, extends beyond my fear this singular foe. Do I cower in the face of his giant legs and impenetrable exoskeleton? Of course. He’s roughly the size of a small child. But more frightening yet is the looming threat of the unknown. I can’t be sure what other hazards this cicada might have rigged up in these close quarters. As I have internalized from watching the first six installments of the Saw series, nothing is what it seems. A knife is not simply a sharp blade; it is an invitation to perform un-anesthetized surgery on one’s abdomen.

Who knows what additional enemies lurk in my medicine cabinet or behind my shower curtain? As long as I freeze in place, I am spared a moment longer. Please, therefore, review the department budget without me. If I am still not at work by the time the office lunch gets put in, though, please order me a tomato soup just in case.

Skeptics, such as Steve from Accounting, might look upon the situation I’m in and shame my inability to take swift action. I can hear him now, telling me to “just use a paper towel” or “step around it.” But if the Saw movies provide any moral, it’s that hasty action results in chopped off limbs, at best. I’m in self-preservation mode, pure and simple. If your life is ever on the line, Steve, you might come to understand this. In the meantime, enjoy your ivory tower of crunching numbers and processing accounts payable. Also, please cc me on anything high priority that comes up.

The more I think about it, my experience in this bathroom is actually more terrifying than Saw, because at no point will James Wan step out from behind a camera and shout, “Cut.” This is reality. The stakes are as real as our office’s wonderful company culture, which I regretfully will have to miss out on this morning.

The bug hasn’t moved an inch. Its body language taunts me, snidely asking, “Do you want to play a game?” And I do not. I must remain on the toilet until the universe rights this cosmic wrong. If I am still in a standoff with this merciless beast at 5pm, I may even have to Zoom in for office happy hour tonight, but we’ll see, because Zoom is usually pretty spotty on my phone.

Againm y sincerest apologies fiur the leay of this ebmi but the bug does not show anry sign of backing own.

Sorry, I wrote that previous paragraph without looking at the screen — I thought I saw the bug move. But no, he’s still there, barricading me in this claustrophobic hell.

Going forward, assuming I am able to slash and claw my way out of this situation, I anticipate carrying with me specific, intense triggers for my cicada trauma, including but not limited to anything that clicks, rattles, or moves suddenly. To that end, should I return to the workplace, please refrain from using clicky pens, fidget toys, rain sticks, salt shakers, maracas, castanets, etc. Come to think of it, I will also need to avoid anything that flies, walks, sits, waits, plots vengeance, or otherwise intimidates me. As I’m sure you can understand, I’ve seen unthinkable evil, and will need some time to readjust to normal life.

Thank you for your patience at this time.

Best,

Lindsay the Intern

Mary Gulino is an LA-based writer who has written for TV and humor sites Reductress, Points in Case, and more. She’s had glasses since she was two and would love to talk optometry sometime. Find her on Twitter @maryegulino if you want, but no pressure, you probably have more important things to do.

was originally published in on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

1. Forlorn Fuchsia

2. We Made Vows Violet

3. Betrayal Blue

4. What Jen Did Was Unconscionably Cruel Cerulean

5. That’s the Same Shade as All the Money Jen Still Owes Me Green

6. You Don’t Divorce Someone in the Middle of a Pandemic Purple

7. I’m Finally Gonna Get an Emotional Support Animal Amethyst

8. On Top of All This Someone Hacked My eBay Account and Ordered 50 Vintage T-Shirts from My Favorite, Now-Defunct Radio Station Silver

9. Call Me Back Jen Jade (This is Also My New eBay Password I’m Storing it Here So I Don’t Forget and Get Hacked Again)

10. Upon Further Review It Seems I May Have Actually Ordered Those Shirts in a Blind Rage and Forgotten Fireball Red

11. Oh God The New Puppy Needs Surgery This is Gonna Bankrupt Me Magenta

12. I Haven’t Prayed in Twenty Years So If I Start Now and My Life Doesn’t Improve I Will Be Infinitely More Ashamed Than I Already Am Amber

13. Dear Lord Hear My Prayer Periwinkle

14. Wow Praying is Embarrassing Ecru

15. Christ This Sucks I Know There Isn’t Even a Color in This One I’m Not Exactly “Looking for Notes” Right Now

16. I Wish I Could Intellectualize My Way Out of the Pain Pink

17. IAN? HER NEW BOYFRIEND’S NAME IS IAN??? Indigo

18. Burnt Sienna

Mary Gulino is an LA-based writer who has written for TV and humor sites Reductress, Points in Case, and more. She’s had glasses since she was two and would love to talk optometry sometime. Find her on Twitter @maryegulino if you want, but no pressure, you probably have more important things to do.

was originally published in on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Look, I get it. You’re the heroine of a horror movie — you have a ton on your plate. Everywhere you go, you carry a vaguely troubling past, and I’m one of the few things representing safety and normalcy in your life. But at times, I feel like you’re using me, and I worry that I’ll get caught up in your bullshit.

Pretty soon (in 10–15 minutes of screen time, to be exact), the inciting incident is going to hit, and your life will never be the same. Granted, I’m a dog, so you can rest assured that I’ll be loyal to a fault, but we all know I’m not making it out of this in one piece. And before the situation gets too dire, I just want to stick your nose in that. Look at what you’re responsible for. Bad girl.

Sure, for now, your life is chugging along as planned; you just moved into your “dream home,” which — let the record show — is one hundred percent haunted. I’ve told you this like 80 times already, but you don’t speak dog, which honestly blows. Maybe if you were a more attentive owner you’d be able to discern the nuance in my many different types of vocalizations. But I digress.

Not only did you move us into a haunted house, you chose one in the most rural area possible. Why is our yard so dark? See, these are the details I notice, because that yard is where you leave me to my own devices, 24 hours a day. On the one hand, what I love most about being a dog in a horror movie is the freedom. I never wear a leash. On the other hand, I hate how you moved us to a literal portal to hell, and now you’re provoking the evil spirits because you “need to find out what it all means” ?!?!?!?

What — and I mean this sincerely — the fuck?

Typically, you and I have an arrangement that works. You interact with me when it’s convenient for the plot — a hasty pat on the head, a spoonful of leftovers when you’re too distraught to eat — but otherwise your life is never inconvenienced by me. I don’t require walks or medicine or, frankly, any real care whatsoever. It makes sense; you’re too distracted by the spirits who visit you at night in an effort to communicate some otherworldly message to you. It doesn’t leave a ton of time for a healthy work-life balance, let alone a trip to PetSmart when I’m getting tired of my old toys.

But it pisses me off that it will take you far too long to heed my warnings. I can bark all night long when there’s a succubus hovering over your bed, but it’s on you to do something about it. Last time I checked, I still don’t have thumbs.

I’m Your Innocent Dog in a Horror Movie, and I Don’t Deserve This was originally published in Humor Darling on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.