Untangling Strings

Chapter One

I am a five feet and five inches human being, whose existence by the way is still questionable, hustling in life with unruly hair, wearing a scallop shell coloured blazer which lapel is crumpled, underneath is a black dress picked by my unconscious hand, carrying a macaroon cream shoulder bag, with wobbly legs and sore feet inside these flimsy black stilettos, and has exactly four minutes left to save my job.

I've been in Walshton Designs for three years. This is the only relationship I've got to keep intact somehow, so far. I have been stuck in a small rectangular desk which barely fits my bits and pieces. A desktop computer is sitting on the left corner. Beside is a planner with a rounded metal container of strawberry flavoured mint on top, and a pen holder carrying a pencil, blue, black, red, and green inked pens. I couldn't even put up a single photo of my family or even an adorable dog from Google. Before, the remaining space is occupied by countless files from the lady freaks who are known to be the secretaries of the bosses diligently painting their nails, chewing a gum, finding dates, flirting thru SMS and slacking off from loads of work; and now, it's full of what I like to call The Devil's Files.

As I wait for the elevator to open, I am studying my reflection on the doorway and I can barely recognize myself. When I started at Walshton Designs, I was full of vim and vigor. And now, after two years and a half of dealing with tasks from the lady freaks, which are technically their tasks, and six months of training under Trudy Hartford, I look like a walking disaster with dark under-eye circles and a body that screams, "Feed me some nutrients, you bitch!"

It is exactly two minutes and fourteen seconds before the clock hits 8 AM.

"Oh, there you are! Barbara's having her laser eyes ready to shoot you dead."

I pull a folder from my bag, "Here's all the documents she'll be needing for the meeting." My face drew a forced pleased smile, "Guess I have to cancel my own funeral?"

One second, Trudy is taking hold of the documents, next she's entering Barbara's office. In the case of deadlines, Trudy works in hasten. Never slowing down.

"You'll have all the right to sleep and rest once the deadline is over. Once the fucking deadline's over." These are Tru's words. These are her welcoming words for me when I started training under her supervision. And this is my stance six months ago... until now... until I reach my last breath in Barbara's hands.

Barbara Norton, the devil of all evil, lends no room for mistakes. Being a Senior Vice President of Marketing for two years, eight assistants had given up and cried on their last day with smudged mascara, cursing Barbara Devil. Tru, being the only one who stayed the longest, will never shed a single tear for her. For sure. She will never have her last day at Walshton Designs walking out the door snivelling. But she'll leave a curse for Barbara, simply because she always does. And it isn't so hard to badmouth the Devil. Actually, it's not bad mouthing, it's called 'stating the facts'. Trust me, I should know. It's my future in less than a week.

The door of Barbara's office cracked open. The Devil herself gets out first followed by Trudy. I wanted to be invisible even just for a second, but too late, Barbara's eyes caught me standing beside the assistant's table and shot me a you'll-never-get-away-next-time-I'm-dying-to-kill-you-right-now look.

I gathered my words together, "Barbara, I am so sorry, it won't happen again."

She came to a shortstop and responded with a sullen glance implying 'You are so going to be a dead meat.'

My knees weaken. My hands fell on the desk and a heavy sigh came out. I am on the verge of collapsing.

"Hope, you can now breathe a little and grab something to eat." I look at Trudy as if I'm about to cry.

"Go on. Devour everything you can. Give your skin some color."

"Thanks so much, Tru. You saved me from a near death."

She smiled. She's got a nice set of teeth, a warm smile, and gorgeous full-type lips. How I envy her. Her smile, her face, her hair's length, even its shine and smoothness, that clear skin without a trace of having a devil boss, her height, her choice of shoes and clothing, and everything about her. How could she be like this? How could I be like her?

"Now, you get going, Hope. Today's not yet over. You've still got a lot of Barbara-situation to handle."

I walk myself outside.