A/N: Written for the FWC prompt of “Resolution”, this short piece was part of my commitment to write a story for the challenge, even when my brain was zapped out. Hence, the stream of consciousness slant and the lack of crunch editing, as I squeezed this out under half-an-hour. Enjoy the read!
Dead on my feet, frizzy hair escaping the immaculate bun from this morning and a chipped fingernail. I’m coming apart at the seams and I know that decompressing is the absolute last thing I’ll be able to squeeze into this day.
It’s been a circus of one thing after another—no, wait, a circus has organized chaos and I am the only living and breathing specimen of sanity in the broad spectrum of co-workers that pass through my office. The chaos is all them.
Or fate. Or something. Karma? Yeah. Let’s go with that one.
My feet are throwing a tantrum as I ease them out from three-inch wedge-heeled boots. It’s a stupid sacrifice, but it was my turn to present today and I needed the edge. It doesn’t help that I’m the only woman on the team.
It’s even worse when I’m the shortest and they constantly talk over my head—as if its some kind of inside joke. I wouldn’t take it seriously at all, except for this is my project. Not Jamie’s, not Nathan’s and most definitely not Richard’s.
Mine. All mine.
Nights slaving away at a stupid glaring screen. Half-eaten breakfasts. Crammed weekends. The chipped nail that has now scratched me in the face.
Ow. Freaking. Ow.