For #270


Our hostess Jasper stoked the firepit and the burgers we consumed tasted burnt. I listened to the lyrics of the song, and I was back at the scouts singing fireside songs. I didn’t enjoy it then, and now, as my bones creak I want to be anywhere else than in the middle of the woods.

The flames thrashed, and I steal a look at my fellow campmates. We are all meant to be bonding, but most of us would rather be in the pub. I’m pretty sure I pulled a ligament on that assault course this afternoon.

What I wouldn’t give for a pint and a proper meal, but I sit there singing these stupid songs. For what? A promotion, a chance to sit at the top table, or more money? I want to climb to the top of the pole, but this just isn’t worth it.

The depiction of my life will crystallise if I don’t do something radical. My job isn’t enough for me any more. I sit at the desk, and wonder how long I can take filing and making reports.

”What do you think, shall we fly to the pub?’ My manager whispers in my ear. ”We could be sitting by a warm fire, and sipping brandy right now in the bar.”

Published by writerravenclaw

I am a fifty something mother of two grown up children, and one beautiful grandchild. I have been married for nearly thirty-four years. My first book was published ten years ago. I wrote my book Sticks and Stones because of my experience of being bullied at school.

One thought on “For #270

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