"Working late again, Peter?"
Peter Stokes looked up from his desk, startled out of his reverie by his ill-mannered colleague. "Yes, I am, Stephen," he replied evenly.
Stephen nodded, a patronizing look on his face as he smirked and left with a twirl of his hand. Peter glared, reaching forward to his pot of paperclips, and tipping them out over his desk.
Yes, he was working late, supposedly writing the article for the next evening's Chronicle. Not that it would make the final cut anyway: his articles never did. Unlike Stephen's, whose articles usually held prime positions in the paper. Twisting a paperclip out of its usual shape, Peter wrinkled up his nose with disgust. He hated this job.
He glanced out of the window to the large tower blocks of London, the twinkling glimmers of the streetlights outside shining against their many windows. It was strangely beautiful out there; nothing like the office he was sitting in. Desks spread out unevenly across the room, papers scattered everywhere, photographs of loved ones buried underneath mounds of photographs and paperwork. Oh, except for Stephen's desk, of course. Stephen's desk looked as clean as a restaurant's kitchen, papers neatly folded in his In Tray, photographs of his family in matching photoframes beside his computer.
"Pillock," Peter muttered, stabbing his paperclip against the desk and breaking it in half. He swore under his breath, throwing the now broken parts of wire back into the paperclip pot, and returning to his screen.
It was strangely ominous; not onlike the heavenly screens you always see on movies. A bright white glowing screen, the only source of light in the office, other than the orange glows cast against the desks beside the windows. Peter stared at the screen until his eyes fuzzed over, but still he couldn't focus enough to actually write anything. Who cared that the local garden centre had just donated a bench to the local school? Surely it wasn't something people would actually pay to read.
Peter sighed, glancing wistfully out of the window again. He replaced his paperclip pot beside his monitor, then picked it up and moved it to the other side. No, it looked better where it was. He moved it back.
11 o' clock.
12 o' clock.
Still an empty screen. Still a pot of paperclips, although the amount of casualities inside was steadily growing.
"Maybe I should quit," Peter mused.
... okay, so I got bored, and gave it a crappo ending. XD But hey 402 words! Cut some slack.
C'mon guys! Give it a go! Paperclips might seem like a ridiculous thing to write about, but it's actually quite cool :D
PS - a reminder note, if you do want to post an entry thing for this, reply to this entry, otherwise we'll end up spamming everyone's friends pages :)