Feeling better than she was, she still clutches her to-go cup of warm tea for more comfort, enduring the elevator ride up as she always does, trying not to think about how high she is rising.
The elevator dings: Twenty-second floor.
Anxious to get to her desk now, to shake this off and return to normal, she bypasses the main entrance to the suite and the friendly, chatty receptionist, turning aside for the hallway that runs behind the restroom area. She fumbles her key out, lets herself in, and has bent down to slide her handbag into the desk drawer when she slowly straightens up again, bewildered.
This is where her desk is, where it should be at any rate, and it looks like her desk well enough – but whose things are all over it?
She draws a sharp breath when she sees the nameplate on it.
This is a Six Sentence Stories installment, #4. The cue was “draw.”
Photo: Sha Sha Chu, Flickr/CC