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Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. With each step of her heels, the sound repeated over and over. The tiles of this office building wasn’t centered. They were off white. Some were pure white and others tan. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack.
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A woman knocked at the door. It lead into the manager’s office of a news paper frim. Midnight’s Secrets. The woman, who everyone called Elly, also was a student. The job here as a writer and reporter wasn’t exactly the best. Small town, local stories.
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The manger sighed a bit, just rubbing his head, “Come in Elena. What all do you need to discuss with me?” An older man somewhere in his fifties. His hair was graying. Wrinkles plagued his face and his job at a newspaper frim was failing him. What was there for a man such as him? He would pick up work elsewhere or retire. His clothes were plain, a button up and some sweatpants. The manger for the short story and crime section of the paper.
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Elena was a short person, no more than five feet tall. First generation African-American, she had dark chocolatey skin and black frizzy hair that she straightened and tied into a ponytail for work. A gray pencil skirt and a white turtle neck was her usual office attire along with black three-inch heels. At the time she was rather quiet and no older than twenty. “Just some concepts some people want to approve of Mr. Johnson…!”
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The manager, Mr. Johnson, reached out and harshly grabbed the papers from Elena. Just going to review them. “I’ll email you for when you need to pick these up, leave now.” He set out the first of ten pages to review the team’s ideas. Normally short stories. Which is the only thing to make the news interesting. Small town, small crimes.
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Elena walked out of the room. She wanted to scream at that man, he was just so annoying. This day was going to be a long day. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. The heels clacked on the ground as she walked back. To her desk she went and sat. Clack. Clack. Clack.
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The clock ticked. Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic tic. Tic tic tic. Tic tic tic tic. Tic tic tic tic tic. Just listening to the wretched clock it would make someone grow crazy. The grandfather clock in the Short Story and Horror Division would go tic. Tic. Tic. The Short Story…that’s too long to say. Everyone just called SSHD for short. That’s what it always has been known as. SSHD. The clock. It was brown and old. So old, how did it even work? The clock always seemed so friendly…but those tics. Tic. Tic. Tic. They told how much longer it would take until the text Story…tic. Tic. Tic. Elena slowly started to go to sleep. At 10:47 a.m.
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