Uncanny Request

It was seven forty-five, fifteen minutes to the meeting time when Clara pushed the elevator button, her heartbeat unhumanly fast as she waited for the doors to slide open. For some reason, the cab man had driven more slowly than usual and the traffic had been more terrifying.

Not to say that she had forgotten the flash drive where the PowerPoint she had prepared for her presentation was, and she'd had to return to Brenda's apartment to pick it up.

She'd worked all night, only catching a two-hour sleep which had seemed like a minute. Her feet were wobbly under her heels and her fingers shook, sweat rolling down in beads down her temple. In general, she was beyond exhausted. Clara was beat.

The doors slid open again, those familiar doors which still suffocated her as they opened, reminding her of another bad day. It wasn't presumptuous to say that she had always hated her job, more because of her colleagues than the tedious task she had to face.

But she had no option but to manage