Jules (b4zookajules) wrote in nanobeans,
Jules
b4zookajules
nanobeans

Challenge #2...

... as suggested by shorty588!



"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

*glare* :P

xxx

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 :)
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She sat in her small pupil's desk, bending the paperclip in different directions. The teacher droned on in the front of the classroom, but Becky was content with the silver piece of metal, folding it into an oval, a heart, a star.

Becky hated school in general, but she hated this class more than any other. Not only were the kids mean to her, the teacher was too absorbed in his boring lessons to do anything about it. Becky sighed as she felt the paperclip snap in half. So much for that, she thought, taking out her planner and doodling on the current date’s box. Tuesday. She hated Tuesdays.

Becky didn’t know why she hated Tuesdays; they were just as bad as any other day. Everyone was entitled to hate Mondays, but on Tuesday, Friday felt so out of reach, and the weekend already so far lost. Becky loved the weekends. She spent them at her father’s house, in her old neighborhood, where all of her friends lived. She didn’t understand why her mother had to move so far away after the divorce, but she was told she needed to be flexible and adjust to the new situation. Like a paperclip
I got a bit carried away. XD But it was fun. Although this is going to be incredibly boring and badly written, because I am extremely tired. And my computer is crashing, so I can't read over it. *snorts*

Clunk.

Ching!

Clunk.

Ching!

Clunk.

The most depressing job in the world, you say? Mine wins, hands down.

Clunk.

Ching!

Can you think of anything more disgusting than having to work in a paperclip factory?

Clunk.

Ching!

It's not as if I have to do anything interesting, either. I just sit here all day, in my lovely wooden chair, watching the paperclips go round and round. I've been here for six bloody years, and this is still all I do.

Clunk.

Ching!

I need to get out of here.

Clunk.

Ching!

Clunk.

Ching!

"MR MILLER. MR ANDREW MILLER, PLEASE REPORT TO ROOM THREE-SIX-TWO. MR MILLER. THANK YOU."

My head spins around. Why does the boss need me? God, what have I done?

Clunk.

Ching!

"Cover for me?" I ask Bill, unnecessarily. He grunts, and shifts position slightly behind the large newspaper he is reading. In the murky light of the factory, you can hardly see him at all.

Clunk.

Ching!

"Er...thanks," I mumble, and walk as quickly as I can past the various machinery situated in the large room. I weave past a dusty looking box shaped one, slide through a gap in between two large cylindrical machines that tower over me, and dart out of the door. The corridor is even darker than the rest of the factory, but I keep my hand planted firmly on the banister and make my way up the stairs, two at a time.

What could Mr Harris want? Could he be promoting me? Maybe if I’m lucky…six years here without any so far. Is this my lucky day?

I turn left down a narrow corridor, and at the end find the door labelled "362". Slowly, I raise my right fist and bang it against the door. After just one knock, a loud voice pounded through the door, and I jump back from it in surprise.

“COME IN!”

Slowly, I grasp the dull metal door handle and twist it. It squeaks faintly, and I push it slightly. The door swings open.
“Ahh…Mr Miller..” The man sitting behind his desk in front of me is wearing an indistinguishable expression beneath his bushy brown hair. His body looks faintly horse shaped, and he leans on his desk, hanging his head as if it is too heavy to hold. He at me, his bulging eyes pulsing visibly in their sockets. It’s safe to say that I’m more than a little bit disturbed.

“How long have you been working here…Mr Miller?” Mr Green asks slowly, staring at me fixatedly.

“Er, six of so years?” He snorts, and I shudder – I could have sworn I just saw something drip momentarily out of his nose, before it disappeared again with a large sniff.

No, Mr Miller, I am not asking you how long I have employed you.” He grins. “I am asking you how long you have been working here.”

I do not like the insinuation behind this comment. I don’t say anything for a moment, and if I listen hard enough, I can almost hear a faint:

Clunk.

Ching!


“I work here every day, sir,” I reply finally. Green snorts again, and I avert my eyes so as not to see the thing dangle from his nose again.

“Yes…well, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed by now, we do not..require…your ‘work’ anymore. Thank you, Mr Miller.” He swings his chair around so he is not facing me, and begins to flick through a pile of A4 sheets leaning precariously over the side of his desk”

“What?” I say sharply, as his words begin to kick in. “WHAT? After six years of HARD WORK here, you’re FIRING me?” Green swings around in his chair, and looks me hard in the eye. He is not smiling this time.

“Oh no, I am saying no such thing,” he says, looking quite offended.

“Ah,” I say quickly, beginning to feel embarrassed – and yet relieved. “I’m sorry, but…er, could you make your meaning a bit clearer?”

“What I am trying to say, is that after six years of you doing bugger all for this company, we are letting you go.”

“But EVERYONE DOES BUGGER ALL!” I shout, without thinking clearly. “THIS IS A PAPERCLIP FACTORY! WHAT DO YOU EXPECT US TO DO?”

“Inspect the paperclips!” says Mr Green clearly, rolling his eyes.

“BUT THEY’RE ALL THE SAME!” I yell, loosing my temper quite rapidly. “YOU ONLY HAVE TO INSPECT ONE AND YOU’VE INSPECTED THEM ALL!”

“Look,” said Mr Green, his eyebrows raised so high that they were hidden behind the mop of hair on his head. “I’m not going to argue with you. Please leave.”

“Fine,” I say stubbornly, “I’m going. I don’t know why I stuck around here for so long, anyway.” I tear out of the room, and purposefully slam the door as loud as I can behind me.

That was fun.


-Enna
Dude, I mixed up the name halfway. XD Mr Harris is Mr Green. Yeah. :P

I'm tired. *disappears off to bed* Damn computer messing up MSN...

-Enna