The signs are so clearly there; the inability to focus clearly on what she's doing, the short-term attitude in everything she does - her sighs of "it doesn't matter, I won't be here next week" bring a swallow of grief to my throat that cannot ever be expressed; and then the strange play of emotions - some form of pathetic glee is the only way that I can describe it - when she stares off, misty-eyed, into the distance. Trying to focus on the uncharted journey ahead.
I fear for the morale of the office. For those with no such early respite from our pains. Especially when one so young is taken. What hope for the older ones amongst us ?
The office was cold this morning, a prophetic chill resting atop the shelving units causing the faintest brush of dew to rest on the edges of the journal files. It's as if the office itself is preparing for something. Something unnatural.
And that something will be here tomorrow...
Fallen : 1
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