Metal-tipped stiletto heels echo on marble floor.
Reverberate in smoke-like tendrils to somber dome above.
Nervous unrhythmic tapping,
As an ancient typewriter hitting and leaving its mark.
Repetition rebound around the rotunda atrium melding into next.
It wasn't fair!
She had been summoned.
There was no refusal.
She arrived on time,
But had been kept waiting.
Sweat her out!
Why was she made to feel guilty?
She jolted as sight met with uniformed guard,
And held.
Steely blue ex-service beneath peaked cap to
Brown and teary, fighting fear, to point of sending mascara flowing in inky ribbons over alabaster cheeks,
As pale as any statue that graced this hallowed hall.
He sat as judge, jury and executioner
Behind raised and ruling oak desk.
Her gaze fazed first.
Desperate to find new eye line.
Hard, dark, wood bench.
New project.
She sat tentatively on the same spot as
Rumps by the multiple had polished before.
A grey suited identikit drone loomed and slithered from behind a heavy ornate door.
Her fingers gripped and well-worn edge as she screamed inside.
Why her?
What was she doing here?
It wasn't her fault? Wasn't her desire?
Who truly wants to work here?
Not her!
Why go through all this when she didn't want the job!
She rose to go.
But the drone approached.
He lifted his chin a little higher to peer down her nose to her.
Nostrils quivering as he sniffed,
"Miss Cavendish. Your father will see you now."
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