At a recent writers' conference that I attended, the presenter gave each writer two random pieces of paper. One had an emotion listed on it. The other had a place and the weather. Our task was to create a story using those prompts. My prompts were: anger, the Rockefeller Center and a bright, sunny day.
Michelle slammed the taxi's door and stepped out into the flood of early-morning pedestrians, each of them oblivious to the others. They walked with hands tucked inside coat pockets and heads bent against the biting wind that blew through the tunnel of tall buildings. Michelle squinted as she looked up the seventy-plus stories in front of her. The sun in the cloudless sky belied the freezing temperatures below. Taking a deep breath, she stormed into the building.
Impatiently, she waited for the elevator. Impatiently, she road it to the fifty-first floor. How could he? I've given my life's blood to this company! I've given my life's blood to him! It wasn't enough though. Not for Jacob. Oh no! The elevator doors opened. Michelle pushed her way through the crowded car and out into the hallway. Composing herself, she walked with visible determination, past reception, through the frosted glass doors, down the hall to the corner office, and without warning, threw the door open and slammed it shut.
"You couldn't tell me in person?" Michelle yelled, shaking the pink slip that she'd held in her hand since finding it in her office mailbox as she locked up the previous evening. Jacob stared at her, jaw dropped open. He obviously wasn't expecting her. "I give this company fifteen years and you give me a pink slip?! You don't even have the guts to talk to me in person?! You wait until you know I'll be here alone - working late, pouring myself out to make you look good? Then you drop this in my box on your way out the door? Just tell me why? Hunh? Why?" She threw the pink slip at Jacob. It fluttered to the ground, landing in a pool of sunshine that pierced through the floor to ceiling windows behind Jacob's desk.
"Michelle. I . . . "
"You what?! What could you possibly say to defend this? You know what's going on in my life right now. You know I can't lose this job. Not now. What am I supposed to do? As if Jon's accident wasn't enough!"
Jacob recovered himself and got up from his desk. He walked around it and faced his opponent. He tried to stay civil, but it wasn't easy. "You should've thought of that before you began embezzling company funds."
It was Michelle's turn to be dumbfounded. What? No way! No way he knows! Impossible! I covered all my tracks. He's bluffing. "What are you talking about it? What embezzlement? How dare you accuse me! You have no proof of anything. You're making excuses to cover your own butt."
Jacob held her gaze. "It's over, Michelle. Give it up. We know. Frankly, I don't really care how you'll pay for Jon's hospital bills, but wherever you find that money, there'd better be enough for a good lawyer too, because, believe me, you're going to need one." With that, he walked back around his desk, sat down, and picked up where he'd left off a minute earlier. She was dismissed.
Michelle stared past him, out the windows, at the brilliantly sunny day that could give an Eskimo frost-bite. Kind of like me. She thought with self-disdain. My $50 nails, $300 haircut, color, and style, and my $500 suit. I look oh-so-perfect, but step through the glass and you'll find my bitterly cold soul. With all the fight gone, she turned and walked out the door. Mindlessly, Michelle found herself back out on the street, hunched against the icy wind, yet squinting in the brightness of the day. She reached in her bag, and took out her sunglasses. $300 for these. A lot of good they'll do me in prison. . . What have I done?
Michelle began to walk the city streets aimlessly. Hours, and miles, later, she sat in the pew of the quiet church, tears flowing in quiet rivulets down her cheeks. At exactly 5:00, the priest walked past her and into the confessional. Michelle followed and knelt down. "Bless me father, for I have sinned."
Michelle slammed the taxi's door and stepped out into the flood of early-morning pedestrians, each of them oblivious to the others. They walked with hands tucked inside coat pockets and heads bent against the biting wind that blew through the tunnel of tall buildings. Michelle squinted as she looked up the seventy-plus stories in front of her. The sun in the cloudless sky belied the freezing temperatures below. Taking a deep breath, she stormed into the building.
Impatiently, she waited for the elevator. Impatiently, she road it to the fifty-first floor. How could he? I've given my life's blood to this company! I've given my life's blood to him! It wasn't enough though. Not for Jacob. Oh no! The elevator doors opened. Michelle pushed her way through the crowded car and out into the hallway. Composing herself, she walked with visible determination, past reception, through the frosted glass doors, down the hall to the corner office, and without warning, threw the door open and slammed it shut.
"You couldn't tell me in person?" Michelle yelled, shaking the pink slip that she'd held in her hand since finding it in her office mailbox as she locked up the previous evening. Jacob stared at her, jaw dropped open. He obviously wasn't expecting her. "I give this company fifteen years and you give me a pink slip?! You don't even have the guts to talk to me in person?! You wait until you know I'll be here alone - working late, pouring myself out to make you look good? Then you drop this in my box on your way out the door? Just tell me why? Hunh? Why?" She threw the pink slip at Jacob. It fluttered to the ground, landing in a pool of sunshine that pierced through the floor to ceiling windows behind Jacob's desk.
"Michelle. I . . . "
"You what?! What could you possibly say to defend this? You know what's going on in my life right now. You know I can't lose this job. Not now. What am I supposed to do? As if Jon's accident wasn't enough!"
Jacob recovered himself and got up from his desk. He walked around it and faced his opponent. He tried to stay civil, but it wasn't easy. "You should've thought of that before you began embezzling company funds."
It was Michelle's turn to be dumbfounded. What? No way! No way he knows! Impossible! I covered all my tracks. He's bluffing. "What are you talking about it? What embezzlement? How dare you accuse me! You have no proof of anything. You're making excuses to cover your own butt."
Jacob held her gaze. "It's over, Michelle. Give it up. We know. Frankly, I don't really care how you'll pay for Jon's hospital bills, but wherever you find that money, there'd better be enough for a good lawyer too, because, believe me, you're going to need one." With that, he walked back around his desk, sat down, and picked up where he'd left off a minute earlier. She was dismissed.
Michelle stared past him, out the windows, at the brilliantly sunny day that could give an Eskimo frost-bite. Kind of like me. She thought with self-disdain. My $50 nails, $300 haircut, color, and style, and my $500 suit. I look oh-so-perfect, but step through the glass and you'll find my bitterly cold soul. With all the fight gone, she turned and walked out the door. Mindlessly, Michelle found herself back out on the street, hunched against the icy wind, yet squinting in the brightness of the day. She reached in her bag, and took out her sunglasses. $300 for these. A lot of good they'll do me in prison. . . What have I done?
Michelle began to walk the city streets aimlessly. Hours, and miles, later, she sat in the pew of the quiet church, tears flowing in quiet rivulets down her cheeks. At exactly 5:00, the priest walked past her and into the confessional. Michelle followed and knelt down. "Bless me father, for I have sinned."
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