“You must have the wrong number….” she replied back, but instead there was no mistake. “Well yes, but..I can’t..I have a deadline..” Other patrons within  the lounge had heard her end of the conversastion, and kept quiet with anticipation. Everyone knew that Carol never got phone calls, especially on her cell phone, unless it was from her best of friends, but there was a different atmosphere, people knew Carol all too well…poor predicatable Carol and her predicatable, simple life.

Carol always sat in the corner, away from people, she was shy, but mostly she didn’t want to get to know people intimately, fear of other people’s drama..getting too close, she didn’t want to risk loss. Face deep into phone conversastion, she sunk even deeper into the corner growing pale, and people noticed.

“That Carol, she is so odd…” one employee whispered to another. “N…no…I couldn’t possibly” Carol whispered into the spearker, but the caller insisted. the last words the mystery person left behind was this “Don’t you want to live? don’t you want to be free?”

This shook Carol. Four years back, Carol had attended college, Carol was well educated and in her English class she was told to choose a topic and write a thesis. Carol chose the topic of “Conspirators, Bankers, the Illumiati and what the control they had over people.” Experiencing a flashback, she was snapped from her thought when a fellow employee had asked if he could sit with her.

Her cheeks turned from peach to rose. Everyone within the walls of the lounge grew silent, watching and waiting with anticipation. All Carol could do was nod. A warm smile stretched across the young guys face as he took a seat, sitting across from her.

“I’m Stan Greenley.” Carol froze into place. She had no contact with anyone at work, kept communication well below mimimum and couldn’t figure why anyone would want to concern themselves with her. Stan Greenley did all of the conversating. “You’re must be Carol, cubicle 344, I’m in 345.” Blood rushed to her head, she couldn’t think, she couldn’t speak, nothing.

“I work across from you, I am a fan of your work here  at Wallis, you posted an article “The Tried and True.” loved it.” “uhh..thanks?!” Carol was truely at a loss of words, she had barely touched her lunch, and Stan was first to observe. He pointed down at the sandwich. “Peanut butter and honey, and edgesoff .my favorite, you gonna eat that?”

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“Huh?” that question threw her off. Who would ask to eat someone elses’ sandwich that they already bitten off of? not only that, this fella had complimented her work, sat down at her table, and noted the sandwich. “he must like plain things,” she thought to herself.

Her eyes wandered around trying to find a distraction. “Oh my…I am so late..I need to go.” “wait” he boldly stated, reaching out for her wrist and grasping onto her. “I’m very sorry Stan Greenley..I must go…” she slipped away and didn’t look back.  Hastily she placed her lunchbox back onto the shelf and shuffled out of the lounge. The occupants had something to talk about. Commentaryhad magnified upon her leaving making her the victim of conversastion, set to the speed of wildfire.

It was past closing time, Carol had finished her deadline that was due within the following two days, she arrived home at 12:30 at night, slid off her shoes, changed into her sleepware, said her prayers and went to sleep.

The next day, she went to work. She slid into her cubicle, arrancged her headset accordingly and sat back in her chair taking in the sights of the ceiling. She didn’t like anything out of place, it had to be just right. From the corner of Carol’s eye, she could see a pen that had lost its cap.  She kneeled down on hands and knees to look for it, upon doing so the mail person had struck her with the mail cart. “Ow.” explaimed Carol. The Cart pusher didn’t seem to care. To the mail carrier, Carol was namelss, just another face.

The Courier had intentionally dropped Carol’s mail to the floor, “She’s down there anyway, why not make oneself useful hmm?” the courier thought to herself as she strutted by. Carol could have cried, both from the oain and mental suffering that woman courier presents to her on a daily basis..”the nerve.” Tears started to accumulate, to avail, she found the pencap and retrieved the mail, rising to the surface.