Ceiling

It was only a paper cut, but it stung like the fires of hell. The hairline skin fracture was on Ed’s knuckle and it made him wince each time he bent his finger. It was surprisingly often. At least the pain helped to take his mind off the weekly project manager's meeting he was trying not to sleep through.

He jerked his eyes open. Tonight, he'd count sheep to sleep, but now he tallied other things to stay awake. He knew that of his colleagues there eight men and six ladies. Seven wore glasses. There were twelve power sockets in the room which had two windows, each with three panes, and ninety-six ceiling tiles. Counting wasn’t working; his eyes still wanted to close.

Ed turned to a new page in his company-headed notepad. Others might have thought he was busy taking notes, but he just wanted an uncluttered space to doodle. He drew a face. The mouth looked wrong on its left edge so he penned over it a few times but he couldn’t get it right. Funny how a crooked mouth on a doodle was more important than this meeting.

He wrote under the face “This is me in my boring meeting” and underlined it. He allowed his pen to continue the line, weaving a blue filigree expression of his brain's subconscious meanderi...

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Paul Sterlini
Aug 16 2020

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Comments:

Very very clever

Rod Webb
Aug 20 2020