Writing Prompt: In one swooping gesture, he dropped it in the trash.

Morning all. I am feeling well rested today and actually ready to face the world. I don’t know how many of you have sleep issues like me, but I am really liking the Ollie Sleep Gummies. They don’t actually put me to sleep, but they help quiet my mind for a bit, which helps me fall asleep. There is no sponsorship attached to that, I just thought I’d mention it. Mostly because I used them last night and got a really good night’s sleep. So well rested we face the morning and our morning writing prompt. Are you ready? Excellent.

Okay now I want to know what he is up to. That might bother me more than the yellow berets of yesterday’s dreams.

Wednesday, February 24th: In one swooping gesture, he dropped it in the trash.

In one swooping gesture, he dropped it in the trash.  “This is what I think of your summons!” he declared haughtily before turning on his heel and stalking out. He disappeared down the hall and a moment later I heard the door slam.  Silence descended on the office suite. 

I was alone.  I sighed heavily for my own benefit if nothing else and bent down to pick the pages off of the top of the trash.  The edges of one side were crinkled where he grasped it in his fist while shaking it angrily at me. That had been before he he yelled and waved them through the air as though they were wing feathers and he was longing to take flight.

“It’s not my summons,” I said as I pressed the pages flat against the desk and tried to smooth out the creases.”

I was warned that he would be difficult.  Thus far he had been in residence for six months and had yet to do anything of note. 

“Other than yell,” I corrected.  He was becoming quite proficient in that.  In the beginning when he first arrived, he would claim forgetfulness or promise to do something later, always later.  Later of course never came, there was always still a sometime later that he meant.  You were just confused, you misunderstood.

Then he realized people were loathe to argue with him directly and he changed tactics.  He bellowed and used overly dramatic gestures before storming out. I suspected he found the dramatics fun and less time consuming than attempting to convince people that they were the ones mistaken about dates and deadlines. He might not have been doing anything her, but it was clear that he was doing something.  Each day he was spotted in the offices, he worked quietly for an hour or so scribbling things in his little notebook and then when he felt he put enough time in to claim he was officially in place, he slipped his notebook into his coat pocket and left the building.  He was seen marching briskly down the side walk, but no one ever saw where he was going. 

I stopped smoothing the pages and looked at them.  They hadn’t changed.  He was to present himself to the board and they were to discuss his schedule.  They weren’t going to let him forget.  They weren’t going to let me let him forget.  I tapped my fingers on the desk.  Maybe a different tactic was in order.  I straightened the pages and left them on the desk that was nominally his.  He could throw them out when he returned in the morning, in fact he probably would, but there would be no one there to witness his theatrics if he did.

“And I can just drop off another set before he gets in the following day.”  Meanwhile, I decided that a little spy work was in order.  I may not have known where he went every day, but I knew the direction he took and I knew the corner he turned before he was lost to sight.  There was a coffee shop there, just around that corner.  I knew approximately what time he would be disappearing, and I panned to be in place before he got there, watching and waiting.  I would find out where he was going and what he was doing. 

Given the efforts he was taking to hide his activities, I suspected he might not want them known.  I knew it was black mail but I didn’t have the time to go chasing him every day trying to get things out of him.  If I could just get him to give a little I would be happy. 

“It’s a very small black mail.  More of a black post it,” I consoled myself when I felt guilty for prying.

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