12

Elaine

“Listen up,” Mr. Sturm boomed, using a forefinger to push back his glasses that were about to fall off the bridge of his nose. I tried not to stare too long, especially after the way he overreacted a few moments ago. He didn't even let me explain myself. “I want these manuscripts,” he lifted a tall bundle of files from a brown cardboard box by his feet onto the table. “To be read, analyzed, proofread and the grammatical errors taken note of. Can you do that?”

I gulped, picking up a file and weighing it in my hands. He watched me intently. “But Sir, it'll take ages to finish this. I thought we had different departments specifically designed to handle proofreading and editing?”

“ This is my work, which in turn becomes yours. I still have a couple more manuscripts over there,” he pointed at a shelf at the end. “Those are mine to work on. These are yours.”

I bit my bottom lip, feeling a protest bubbling in my throat. The files were humongous and a single one contained at least thir