Part five of The Whiteboard

Part five of The Whiteboard

Part five of The Whiteboard

Here it is! Part five! Good day friends! I hope this finds you happy and well. Are you enjoying these tidbits of story? I am having fun writing them.

five

If you recall, the last time we met, Anne was frustrated to find the writer had turned her windshield into a new form of whiteboard. This time, she finds that even silence screams loudly when executed aright.

THE WHITEBOARD part five by ©Kim Smith

By the time Anne reached the highway, she’d worked herself into a terrible headache. She’d been having a lot of those lately and wasn’t too happy about it. She’d been a sickly child and headaches seemed to haunt her. Remembering her childhood sicknesses were a quick way to become depressed. They had been the reason her father was never home, she was sure. He couldn’t stand to hear her crying she supposed.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, think about something else,” she chided aloud. So, she turned up the radio and sang off-key as loud as she could.

That would exorcise any demon.

~@~

The next day, Thursday, when she arrived in her office to prepare for her meeting, she was shocked to find that nothing appeared on the whiteboard. Her question seemed stark, bold.

“Who ARE you?”

The writer had obviously taken the high road and given up. She was a little sad that she didn’t get a reply on the person’s identity. She chuckled as she wiped the board clean.

Her meeting came and went, and she gathered her lunchbag and headed to the kitchen. A strange anticipation filled her. Would the writer strike during the day again?

Did she really want this odd messaging to continue? Wasn’t the writing on her car enough? This person was stalking her in a way. They even knew her car.

As she stood in front of the microwave, she decided she might want to follow Beatrice’s advice and go to someone higher. Someone in authority might be able to stop this. But she shied back, fear of judgment from someone over her at work filling her mind. Wouldn’t do to tell anyone now. There was no evidence–only her words saying so. No way she wanted her superiors to think she was encouraging the writer, and they would because she was not trying to stop it.

She was the one leaving the door open. She had encouraged the behavior of the writer, hadn’t she? If she wanted this to stop, she only had to start locking up. Show the writer that she was not playing anymore.

Her reflection glowed in the stainless of the microwave. Was she that lonely? Desperate for a relationship so that she secretly welcomed the writer’s intrusion?

She took her lunch out of the microwave and headed to her table. She couldn’t focus all of her attention on this. Not now, not ever. It would make her even more mousy and timid. She hated feeling like this. Trapped. Like she didn’t have good choices to pick from.

She sighed as she blew on a hot piece of broccoli.  Maybe the car incident would be the last. Maybe this was just a phase. Maybe one day the writer would come into her office and ask her how she liked his or her activity.

It was just a big joke, wasn’t it?

_____ ~~@~~_______

Welllll… so…there ya go- part five in the can. Check back in a few days for another installment.

 

 

About master

Kim Smith is the author of Disk of Death, The Dread Room, Love Inn, and An Unexpected Performance.

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