Looking forward to the annual budget? Here’s our wishlist for Ms. Nirmala Sitharaman!
Cinderella met her prince after she left the party at 12 am but what happens when an intern is forced to stay till 12 in the office?
It wasn’t too loud in the day. But at that time of the night, the tick tick of the digital clock was obnoxiously obvious.
She grit her teeth anxiously, looking from the clock to her boss and then back.
The blue suit sat across the table, a stray pen in one hand and the phone receiver crouched between his ear and shoulder.
Oblivious to the girl sitting across the table from him, he spoke into the phone…
“Now here’s a better one…Why does Santa come with a huge sack?”
She grimaced, trying to ignore his voice. This never went well, really… the same dirty jokes, the constant bawdy banter, never upfront… but still, nonstop dirty talk.
“No. Take another guess, d******d!” he spoke to the person at the other end of the phone.
He sneakily glanced to see if she was listening in. She wondered if there really was another person at the end of the line.
“Ok. I’ll tell you then,” he continued. “It’s because he comes only once a year.
“Haa haa haa haa haa haa. Got that? Comes!!!!” His obnoxious laughter echoed and bounced across the walls of the room.
“Ok. Here’s another one…” Oh my god. He went on and on.
It was the sneaky and underhanded manner with which this man harrowed his young interns. She had been warned… but she needed the job.
She couldn’t take it any more. She glanced at the clock. Five minutes to twelve. She needed to leave. Much too late for anyone to be working.
Standing up hastily, her ID badge cluttered and fell to the table.
Pausing midway between the call, he looked up at her.
“Sir, I need to leave.” Mustering courage, she spoke.
He covered the mouth piece with one hand.
“Sit. This will take only a few minutes. I’m talking to an old friend.”
“I think you were informed that this job required late hours.”
“But sir…” she opened her mouth to protest once more. But he signalled for her to sit down and swivelled his chair, faced the wall and continued his inappropriate banter.
It took another three minutes for him to finish his call.
“Ok now, let me have a look at the file…” he said, turning around noisily, in his fancy chair.
His heart literally stopped.
The gorgeous face of his intern was now a peeling mass of rotten, melting flesh…
…eyes, flaming red, as hot as his jokes…
…her curls snarling and hissing and coming towards him like wild forest snakes,
…butchered stubs for fingers that dripped blood.
Her sad, apologetic expression…as she extended those stubs and clasped his neck. It must have been his last breath when his eyes rolled over one last time and spotted her ID.
Her nice passport photo, with her designation…Assistant Secretary, and then her name below it…
The next day, a janitor found him, face down on his table, eyes still open.
They said that his heart had stopped beating somewhere between 11:59 and 12:01.
Picture Credits: Pexels
First published at author’s blog
I write because I love to express myself through words. And I am a communicator.
Twenty Gun Salute [Short Story]
Bedroom Politics: The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly
From Darkness To Light: A Fairy Tale
The Presentation [#ShortStory]
Stay updated with our Weekly Newsletter or Daily Summary - or both!