Her eyes weren’t just green. They were an unnatural green, like an emerald under direct sunlight, they shimmered different shades as she floated toward me. Somehow I knew, what I would find in those eyes was not something I wanted to see, but attempts to close my own failed me. Her hand reached out to me, human, but with razor like claws that threatened to feel my insides. I opened my mouth to scream.
I jumped, nearly falling out of the office chair in the process and taking everything with me. Throughout the office I could hear giggles, as I tried to get my bearings.
Even in my stupor, her voiced raked across my nerves. Heather stood at the entrance to my cubicle, her arms crossed against her medically induced bulging chest, one thickly painted eyebrow raised. I scrambled to put things back in order, suddenly feeling the wetness on the side of my mouth. Drool. That’s nice. As discreetly as I could, I wiped it away with my sleeve and forced myself not to look at the paperwork I had been apparently sleeping on in the hopes that if I didn’t see it, the drool wasn’t there.
“How is the project coming?” It wasn’t a real question. It was one to provoke a response that would give her an open door for more criticism.
“Fine.” I said, now awake but still feeling the effects of the crash.
“Really? Because I thought I said to have that on my desk an hour ago?” she said, still maintaining her school marmish stance.
“It’s almost done. I ran into an issue…”
She cut me off. “I don’t want to hear any excuses. Just get it done.” With that she turned on her black kitten heels, and clip-clopped her way back down the hall. The words that ran through my head weren’t fit for office use. I peered over at the work on my desk. At least the drool appeared to have missed anything important.
Like a whack-a-mole, Jason popped his head up from his cubicle directly in front of mine and grinned. “That. Was. Epic.”
“Shut up,” I said, not in the mood for his comments at the moment. Not phased by my mood, he placed his elbows on top of the cubicle and his chin in his hands.
“So what were you dreaming about?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, taking my frustrations out on the stuff on my desk.
“I don’t know,” he said. “You were making all kinds of weird noises.”
“And you didn’t wake me up?”
“And miss all that? Nope.” He grinned and disappeared back into his cubicle. I hated it him too at that moment, thought I knew it would dissipate quickly.
Michelle Leigh Miller is an independently published author, freelance writer, and blogger in Southeastern Ohio. Basically, she is just writing words.