Metal Whispers
Title: First Day Stress
Word Count: 603
She sat in her car for almost ten minutes, staring at the concrete stairs that led to corporate's entrance. Nobody in sight, save for a few people drinking coffee on the benches near the landscaped gardens that surrounded the building, and another small group chatting by the front doors. Taking a deep breath, she glanced down at her watch, then back to the street. She didn't see any reporters, news vans, or any odd crowds, and wondered if it was possible nobody knew about her promotion. Her fingers tapped at the door handle as she calculated the distance from her car to the front doors, and she said a quick prayer before shoving the door open and half-walking, half-jogging for the stairs.
It was like they materialized out of thin air - a throng of reporters poured from the front doors and over the stairs, and as she backed away a few steps, her hands raised defensively, she heard another crowd coming up behind her. Before she could even blink, dozens of microphones and recording devices were shoved in her face, and a chorus of questioning voices raised in a chaotic noise all around her. She twisted and turned, her heart hammering in her chest, trying desperately to break through the crowd, but they simply surged around her and blocked every avenue of escape. The press of their bodies, their repetitive questions, their very presence seemed to suck the oxygen from the air - dizzy and disoriented, stumbling on the stairs, she could feel herself starting to cry and her body trembled with a mix of panic, anger, and shame.
"Good morning folks!" came a jovial call from somewhere outside the crowd. For a brief moment the reporters fell quiet, like a collective pause for breath, and then they were spinning and tripping over themselves as they tried to find the source of the familiar voice. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" Keelin reeled backward, gasping for breath, and nearly screamed in terror as she felt someone grab her wrist. Twisting, ready to lash out, she hesitated when her eyes fell on a face she'd only seen in magazines - Theo Matheson, the program's other pilot, complete with his erratic violet and silver hair. He gave her a wink and a reassuring smile, tugging on her arm to pull her up the stairs and toward the building. As they gained some distance, Keeling glanced behind her to see Daxen standing casually in front of the horde of journalists, hands in his pockets, not a care in the world. "I'm sure you'd all love a chance to speak with Miss Morrows, but as you know, the Commander in Chief is a stickler for schedules and..." He made a show of glancing at his watch, which drew a collective laugh from the crowd. "Well, I'll let you fill in the rest. But if there's anything..."
His words faded out as Theo pulled her through the front doors and into the air-conditioned lobby, where she collapsed against a marble wall and sighed heavily as her companion jogged away, not sure if she wanted to vomit or faint.
"Like savages, aren't they?" Theo asked as he returned, and she opened her eyes to find him still smiling. He offered her a bottle of water, which she gratefully accepted, and motioned for her to sit on a nearby bench. "You get used to it after a while."
"Oh hell no," she muttered shakily, pressing the cold bottle to her forehead and trying to will the tremors in her body to ease. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that."
Word Count: 603
She sat in her car for almost ten minutes, staring at the concrete stairs that led to corporate's entrance. Nobody in sight, save for a few people drinking coffee on the benches near the landscaped gardens that surrounded the building, and another small group chatting by the front doors. Taking a deep breath, she glanced down at her watch, then back to the street. She didn't see any reporters, news vans, or any odd crowds, and wondered if it was possible nobody knew about her promotion. Her fingers tapped at the door handle as she calculated the distance from her car to the front doors, and she said a quick prayer before shoving the door open and half-walking, half-jogging for the stairs.
It was like they materialized out of thin air - a throng of reporters poured from the front doors and over the stairs, and as she backed away a few steps, her hands raised defensively, she heard another crowd coming up behind her. Before she could even blink, dozens of microphones and recording devices were shoved in her face, and a chorus of questioning voices raised in a chaotic noise all around her. She twisted and turned, her heart hammering in her chest, trying desperately to break through the crowd, but they simply surged around her and blocked every avenue of escape. The press of their bodies, their repetitive questions, their very presence seemed to suck the oxygen from the air - dizzy and disoriented, stumbling on the stairs, she could feel herself starting to cry and her body trembled with a mix of panic, anger, and shame.
"Good morning folks!" came a jovial call from somewhere outside the crowd. For a brief moment the reporters fell quiet, like a collective pause for breath, and then they were spinning and tripping over themselves as they tried to find the source of the familiar voice. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" Keelin reeled backward, gasping for breath, and nearly screamed in terror as she felt someone grab her wrist. Twisting, ready to lash out, she hesitated when her eyes fell on a face she'd only seen in magazines - Theo Matheson, the program's other pilot, complete with his erratic violet and silver hair. He gave her a wink and a reassuring smile, tugging on her arm to pull her up the stairs and toward the building. As they gained some distance, Keeling glanced behind her to see Daxen standing casually in front of the horde of journalists, hands in his pockets, not a care in the world. "I'm sure you'd all love a chance to speak with Miss Morrows, but as you know, the Commander in Chief is a stickler for schedules and..." He made a show of glancing at his watch, which drew a collective laugh from the crowd. "Well, I'll let you fill in the rest. But if there's anything..."
His words faded out as Theo pulled her through the front doors and into the air-conditioned lobby, where she collapsed against a marble wall and sighed heavily as her companion jogged away, not sure if she wanted to vomit or faint.
"Like savages, aren't they?" Theo asked as he returned, and she opened her eyes to find him still smiling. He offered her a bottle of water, which she gratefully accepted, and motioned for her to sit on a nearby bench. "You get used to it after a while."
"Oh hell no," she muttered shakily, pressing the cold bottle to her forehead and trying to will the tremors in her body to ease. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that."