Tag Archives: rebellion

The Interview.

The elevator doors opened on the 7th floor.
A pretty brunette in a grey business suit stepped out holding a cup of double mocha in her right hand and carrying a black designer bag in her left.
“Hi, Sally,” a new intern she had never seen before greeted her.
She acknowledged the greeting with a slight nod of her head and a curt smile. She walked briskly to her office. Two ladies and two men sat in the reception area waiting to be interviewed.
She entered her office, kicked off her shoes under her desk and drank from the paper cup in her hands. From her desk, she saw the cloudy sky and the traffic in central London moving like soldier ants.

“Can they come in?” her secretary asked.
“Yes.”
She quickly did away with the first three candidates. Although they had good scores on the written tests, they didn’t give satisfactory answers to her questions. These were not the kind of people she wanted to work with her. She was barely two promotions away from becoming the CFO of COSO Oil. She needed someone to work with her who understood and could manage complex financial details.
The last candidate entered the office and stood before her.
He was tall and handsome. He had blue eyes. Sally looked at his details on her laptop. He had high scores in the first interviews. He had the body of a martial artist, not an accountant. She could see his biceps bulging out of the well cut Italian suit he wore. She had to admit that he had a good sense of style. She waved him to a seat.
He sat down and carefully placed a tablet encased in a black case on the table. On top of it he put a green notepad and beside it he dropped an unusually large green marble. She had seen all sorts of things while conducting interviews. People carried all kinds of objects for luck. This was new. She ignored it.
She read his name from a list on her table.
“Michael Legna?”
“Actually it’s Greek, but it has been modified through the years,” he smiled.
“I see,” Sally said, but she didn’t see, neither did she care. She wanted to conduct the interview as quickly as possible and see Jim Blaswell before he left to see his ugly wife and three children who looked exactly like her.
Sally asked him some questions. She liked his answers.
“Michael could you tell me a story in five minutes?”Sally asked, still reading his bio on her laptop.
“What kind of story?” he asked.
“Anything you like.”

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The Enemy Within 6

The Enemy Within 6.

He woke up suddenly and looked around him.  He had a bad headache and seemed to be suspended between two worlds. He felt completely lost. Two candles were almost burnt out in the holders.
A woman lay beside him. Her hair covered the pillow. She moaned softly and rolled over. He looked closely at her. It was Suki.
He dragged himself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Alcohol did more to distabilise him than a thousand Philistine soldiers. He entered the bathroom and poured some water on his head. The water ran down his locks, his back and dripped on the floor.
“Who’s there?” Suki asked from the bedroom.
“Go back to sleep,” Samson murmured.
There was some ruffling of sheets and seconds later she went back to sleep.
Samson sat on a chair. The window beside him was open and the darkness crept in, making the candles struggle to brighten the room.
It  was like the state of his soul: open, vulnerable and dark.
He shook his head to clear it but the effects of the alcohol clung to him, like a blood thirsty vermin, refusing to release his mind to think clearly. Continue reading

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