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…works hard for a living…

Who works on a Saturday night?   But the insatiable corporate beast is always hungry for fresh blood and new sacrifice, and if she hadn’t tried to get those fucking figures done before Monday morning, that promotion, or bonus, or whatever blood money was driving her would have been thrown away.   Of course, it no longer matters now, but for her then, there was the desire to make a – killing.   She must have heard the noise from her ninth floor office – the dull thudding.   It could have crossed her mind as she made her lone way down the dark deserted hall how cliched a horror film heroine she was being – investigating the strange noise at night.   But human curiosity is its own endless thirst, and the real-life adult-world monsters are the deadlines and work stresses and pressures to succeed.   One has to become a predator to survive, of course – stalk your client prey, rip apart your enemies’ presentations, feast upon the blood of the fallen.   She had no fear here.   And all the sound was, oddly enough, was a boy.   A boy, sitting on the railing of the conference room balcony, swinging his heels rhythmically against the perspex sheet holding the drop to the black street at bay.   Living can be hard work.   And when climbing the corporate ladder, it’s always a long way to fall.   “Who the fuck are you?” thus seemed such an inadequate question in the face of her impending bloodied death and the ensuing plummet to the pavement.   But for now she was fearless, and he was innocuous, and his answer was so simple:

I’m Jonathon.

 

NEXT ENTRY…

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2 Comments

  1. Congrats again on another piece of awesome writing! Loving this week’s theme…

  2. Oh, My God! I’m changing my schedule..


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