Sally’s desk remained untouched with its rainbow of highlighters and paperclip cup.
Employees had been disappearing without any farewell emails or Krispy Kreme boxes in the kitchen.
New management weren’t hot on big goodbyes, it seemed. Then Jim overheard rumours. They were ‘making a meal of things’; Sally had stormed out of a conference: ‘Cannibals!’, she said, ‘they’re having a feast!’
Sally was ‘bitter’, explained Xavier. But they were offering him Sally’s position, a significant pay rise, and a company car.
Unbelievable. They were fattening him up. ‘Screw you,’ said Jim. ‘What do you think I am? Fucking foie gras?’
© 2017 The Wasted Love Song
In response to: Friday Fictioneers, 7 July, 2017
Image Credit: Claire Sheldon
Many thanks to Rochelle for organising Friday Fictioneers.