By Liz Frost
She’d never seen such a beautiful sky. Reds, oranges and yellows swooping and colliding with perfect
white clouds. The Autumnal scent in the air and a glimpse of blue sky peeping through, providing the
ultimate canvas for her work of art. As she sat now on the peeling green bench, surrounded by
orange and brown tinged leaves, Anna felt a sense of calm wash through her body and a smile creep
onto her lips, not quite reaching her eyes.
The whole day now revolved around this one moment. She’d arrived in her cubicle for nine, stopping
off to pick up a cappuccino and stepping into the lift with her feet encased in their pointed shoes, a
symbol of her corporate imprisonment. Anna had sneaked a peek at her lift companions, eyes as
usual fixed on the increasing floor numbers displayed above the door, to avoid any potentially
embarrassing small talk. A young pretty girl dressed in a smart black suit and Ralph Lauren glasses, a
balding businessman in grey pinstripes, a graduate fresh out of college and eager to please.
At her cubicle, she’d found the post, as usual, dumped on her chair and a small pile of menial things to
do: a fax to send to Monica; a report to photocopy; some bound documents to unpick; an A1 flipchart
pad full of unreadable scribble for her to type. She’d tried to imagine the consequences of these tasks
not being completed, but finally resigned herself to the fact that, her job, as well as her life, had no
meaning.
This job didn’t deserve her. These people didn’t deserve her. Small, meek Anna needed to be heard
and nobody was listening. Her teachers hadn’t listened when she’d needed respite from the constant
bullying. Her parents hadn’t listened when she’d cried out for help, bruising her limbs and slashing her
skin. She’ll grow out of it, they’d said.
Anna felt a wave of anger filling her up, making her muscles tense. Her fingernails sought comfort in
their perfect grooves dug out from months of Anna’s fist clenching.
She thought desperately of her calm place, a meadow with small white daisies scattered across it and
huge bails of hay extending out to touch her horizon with its beautiful orange sunset. But faces started
to creep into her fantasy world. Her mother’s awash with disapproval and regret, her friends’ long-
gone, unable to understand her pain.
She eyed the meaningless pile of papers again and with one swift motion soaked them with nail
varnish remover before catching the corner of one page with the tiny flame of a lighter pulled from her
handbag.
Now as she sat watching her creation from the park opposite. People running from the building with
petrified eyes. Plumes of smoke now making their way up into the sky, colouring her sunset with grey.
She looked down at the beautiful smooth silver-plated lighter. Her paintbrush. Then walked slowly
barefoot from the chaos, her little pointed shoes left neatly under the bench.
Back to short stories
Home