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Creative Writing - It was nine o'clock, the large desk had a coffee mug on one of its many mats, and the laptop was turned on; something about an order for paper.
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| Submitted: Thu Sep 25 2003
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Creative Writing It was nine o'clock, the large desk had a coffee mug on one of its many mats, and the laptop was turned on; something about an order for paper. I was sitting down on the leather seat, which was warm, someone had already been here. The office didn't have a speck of dust; it was as clean as a whistle. The plants were brown, they looked scary on the large walls, and they just hung, wilted, for no reason. The wallpaper on the wall was as white as a ghost. I thought this might just have been a routine bollocking but the way that Mr Walsh told me put fear in my heart. I'd never felt that way before, there was something in his voice, it wasn't scary it was more caring. What the hell was I doing here? I kept saying to myself, I could hear the sound of...
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