I can't keep my eyes off that damned table. She yells something at my face, but her nasally voice is no match for the Black Eyed Peas.
"I'm sorry, a what?"
"An executive financial director!"
I excuse myself and dart straight to the table. What was I expecting? I grab one in each hand, two more to come. Maybe the bubbles will make it bearable. Goodbye, grating, scraping, solid reality. Please, please wash away now.
All four slide down my throat as I toss them back, one after the other. I cough, I sputter, I catch my breath. They aren't helping. I close my eyes, hoping to disappear. I wish for some sort of catastrophe -- an earthquake, a hurricane, anything. I want an interruption, something huge. Something to stop it all.
I sigh, pick up another glass, and stagger back to my seat.
Between sips, I concentrate waves of loathsome stares at each man and woman present. This is not for me, and it has never been. Here, my empathy is ineffective. Better unfiltered hatred than futile attempts at communication. I absolutely cannot imagine why she chose this, but here we are. First I will finish this and then I will walk among them.
I have to keep deeping breathely.
Produced by: Jove
Title: Three
Notes: based on a false story
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