Where the light was better there was little hope of ascending. Sharon sat at the desk with her hands on the keyboard hearing Landry’s voice in another cubicle. He might come to her next.
She shivered, let him not, Lord. Let him keep away, like the dogs at home, let him take his prizes elsewhere. There was no reason to fear, only that his hands had, they wandered.
She opened a new document and began the article assigned. Research: it would keep the plague of thought handily away. Handily, ah no, let’s not use that phrase. Not recalling hands.
“Tiller stops at edge of clearing, enough acreage to allow the land to grow. The farmers know the way to lay out the space, to make it productive. “ Productive of what, Sharon wondered. Launching lust, hands all over. Enough of that. Thought leads nowhere.
In the mountains she read, the farmers gravitated to terracing the fields. Creating spaces to help prevent erosion. She felt how the emotions were cascading from level to level. Soon there would be only the doubt, fear, and pain of the situation.
This was a dream job, the perfect solution to her need for experience. Was the price worth the lines on her resume? Was her body the booty for staying?
Landry, stepped up beside her, normally, like nothing at all. Then he put his hand on her shoulder. “How are you today, Sharon?”
She stiffened, “ Quite fine, sir. And you?”
“Ah, looking forward to your report. You can bring it to my office when you finish. I will go over it with you,” he said, his fingers wandering to her chest.
He left. She felt the lines across her face traced by her tears. Too bad Mom was not home for her to call, would never again answer her. There was only emptiness… It was beyond her to think about at the moment.
“Though clear cutting disturbs nature…” Clearly cut across her mind was the thought of being alone in his office again. How lecherous an editor, how accommodating a scribe. Like something old and traitorous. The body of work, the body to work.
Technically, there was nothing. No one would think a moment about his hands. No one would consider it a problem. A person like her, well, crazy people invent things. Paranoids think outrageous stuff up. It really could be a misunderstanding.
“The yield was often greater in the soil beneath. Ages left it fertile and allowed it to give a fine harvest.” Yielding was tantamount to agreeing. Saying everything was alright, when actually it was a terror.
She looked into the screen, and felt the door opening a crack, the fabric gave… Sharon knew nothing mattered enough, she closed the document. Her purse was beside her ankle and she drew the strap over her shoulder. She left the cubicle, hearing the soft click of other keyboards, then she was gone.
Quit, chapter over. A moment among others, freedom no more delayed.
© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
Monday, June 24, 2024
Monday, June 24, 2024
An Agent of Spiraling Chaos 