Post by René Bonner on Jun 26, 2007 13:27:38 GMT -5
Ren walked toward the building ahead, passing more than a few people who were leaving at the end of the day. The shadows were long on the asphalt, mixing together into a strange darkness, and the sound of his footsteps was dulled by the noise of so many departing workers. Their chatter rang loud in his ears. As he approached the building, the last of the crowd left, and his steps echoed in the silence.
The elevator took him up, and he wandered the halls for a few moments. The walls reflected the orange light of the falling sun, making the white hallways lighter and darker than in full daylight. The door he was looking for appeared on his right. The frosted glass prevented fore-knowledge of how many employees remained.
Taking a breath, he opened the door and entered the offices of The Bay Mirror. Most of the cubicles were empty. Computers were off; phones were silent. Many of the doors to private offices were closed as well, though a few were still open. Fortified by the emptiness, Ren crossed the office and knocked on the door belonging to "E. Rothman, Editor." The three raps on the frosted glass sounded empty and proved fruitless when no one came to answer.
He grabbed a nearby piece of paper and began to write a short note. Sliding it under the door, he turned to leave. However, his progress toward the exit was halted by the sound of a voice coming from the side.
The elevator took him up, and he wandered the halls for a few moments. The walls reflected the orange light of the falling sun, making the white hallways lighter and darker than in full daylight. The door he was looking for appeared on his right. The frosted glass prevented fore-knowledge of how many employees remained.
Taking a breath, he opened the door and entered the offices of The Bay Mirror. Most of the cubicles were empty. Computers were off; phones were silent. Many of the doors to private offices were closed as well, though a few were still open. Fortified by the emptiness, Ren crossed the office and knocked on the door belonging to "E. Rothman, Editor." The three raps on the frosted glass sounded empty and proved fruitless when no one came to answer.
He grabbed a nearby piece of paper and began to write a short note. Sliding it under the door, he turned to leave. However, his progress toward the exit was halted by the sound of a voice coming from the side.
