Words so Contrived || CH

1 - Morose

Morose

/məˈrōs/

adjective

sullen and ill-tempered.

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Canada's eyes stayed glued onto the screen as he diligently typed on the keyboard of his laptop. The soft yet still audible clicking sound each key made once he pressed on it filled the—what would be—silent room. It was all he heard. That was fine. He enjoyed the quiet. It was a comfort to him.

He continued typing, his moose ears twitching from time to time. He clicked on the enter button twice to start a new paragraph, then stopped writing. He placed his hands down on the desk, unsure of what to do now. He simply stared at the report that was displayed, reading what he could without scrolling up to the previous page. This page was only two paragraphs long.

Do not get me wrong—it would be in our best interest to continue on with the renovations of the Chorhenn Wing. I am a firm believer in that, though, I also believe that further restrictions must be put into place to prevent any further injuries. What happened to Mexico should not be simply swept under the rug or brushed aside as a simple accident. Employee negligence is the culprit here, and we must tackle that problem as soon as possible. I do suggest switching a few of the employees as I have observed some mishandling or disregarding their duties.

Again, I sincerely apologize for only noticing this now. If I had made a thorough background check on each of the workers — which I hadn't done as I thought that it was unnecessary— then we could've avoided this. I will make sure that this will not occur again.

Sighing, he pulled his hands away from the keyboard. This was supposed to be an apology, right? After Mexico inhaled too much of the air in The Rift because a careless employee, which he hired, left a door open. He could just end it there and move on to something else— so he could try and cure his procrastination habits— but he felt as though it wasn't sincere enough.

He guesses that continuing it later would be fine. Yes, he knew that he was supposed to stop himself from procrastinating from time to time, but as long as he didn't delay it for an entire week, then he didn't count it as procrastinating.

Canada leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs and arms. He heard a few cracks as he straightened his knees, and all of a sudden, he really wanted to lie down. Unfortunately for him, he did check a while ago and saw that it was far from 4PM, which was the time he could go home. It was 12, or somewhere around it.

He fixed his posture and moved his chair closer to the desk using one hand, while running his fingers on the carvings of the vibrant mocha brown wood. Looking towards the direction window, he sighed and stood up. He noticed the plant that he had usually kept near the said window was beginning to wilt. Probably because he didn't water it for a few days.

Taking the water bottle in his hands, he walked over to the plant. Its leaves drooped above the white, mini teapot shaped, ceramic pot. He reached a hand out and adjusted the position of the thing so it was facing the sunlight better as he poured water on the soil, attempting to limit the amount of water that would hit the leaves.

Once Canada was satisfied with the amount of water he gave the plant, he pulled the bottle away and took a step back. He stared down at the herb, unsure of what to do now. To an outsider, he looked as if he was waiting for the plant to do something. For it to instantly grow back.

He bit his lip as he decided to head back, turning around and walking back to his desk. He stretched his back as he sat back down and looked at the email he was still writing. It could wait for later, he thought to himself as he placed it into his drafts. There were about a dozen unfinished emails, but he didn't make a move to open any of them.