Liss , when I read the name this was the image that appeared in my head (or something similar). Its not very good. Lydia stared at the monitor, rather too intently. The words certainly didn’t seem like those written by an Jardine prize winning journalist. The bold type face reflected in her overly large glasses concealing her eyes from any other cubicle haunting writer still at the Daily Herald offices at 11:30pm at night. She bit on her plastic pen several times, and then disgusted by the taste threw it into the waste basket. She sort out something to drink, a stale three day old diet coke with a half crushed straw was the only such item on the cluttered desk. As the teppid liquid washed away the bad pen taste she again focused on the words. “UK Engineering genius claims Automated smart factorys will revolutionise employment.” Lydia quickly remove the unnecessary capital letters and corrected factories. The tapping of the keyboard seem to loud for the grey cubicle and it’s clutter of notes, clippings and half of Lydia’s life. Again Lydia sort distraction, she sort out the last of the cheese and onion crisps from the flat opened packet. She munched and absent mindedly wiped her fingers on her new orche sweater. She blinked and looked at the time in the lower corner of the computer screen. 11:45pm. “Enough” she exclaimed to no one save her degree certificates and yellowing award certificates which hung as constant reminders of her inability to get this story down. Removing her glasses with one hand she pinched at her nose with the other, giving some glad relief to her eyes from the glare of the word processor. She looked back smoothing her once auburn hair in an arch before in a single movement springing from her desk and seizing her stachel. Not today, tomorrow, the world could learn about a borderline autistic inventor who spent the entire interview looking at her tits. The thought of the man made her skin crawl. She left her lamp on, a reminding to those in the morning of her late night. At least that is what Lydia hoped it indicated, anything to get Kate off her back. Her editor was really starting to annoy her now. The article wasn’t due till Sunday and it was Thursday. What was the problem? Trying to push aside her inner monologue she strode purposefully towards the lift, her size 8 white soled trainers squeaking on the floor. She pressed call and the elevator pinged and opened. As it did a gloved hand grasped her sweaters collar and pulled her. She half fell, half slid into the lift. Three banaclaved men dressed in black stood around her. Fear filled her mind. “Shush lass, not a peep.” Another hand was thrust to grab hers and the mechanics of lifting her up began. “We are not gonna hurt you. In fact we need your help, you see we are from the future.”
Posted on: Wed, 09 Jul 2014 13:31:35 +0000
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