Monday, 4 September
British Institution of Science
I was starting work at the office, with a mug of coffee and a briefcase containing papers, money, etc. in both hands, prepared for a new week of endless amounts of work.
Took to my seat, pulled out a ballpoint pen of my pocket from my doctor's jacket and began writing down some stuff upon a notepad.
Deep down, I wasn't sure if my antidote was worthy of release. Despite the concern, I did not overthink due to recalling the paragraph from Winston's book called Tricks to Life.
For five hours, I hustled hard. Butt pressed on the seat. Eyes glued to the work. Tough fingers gripping the body of the ballpoint pen. Mind laser focused on the task at hand. A man on a mission.
Lunchtime approached.
As I was having lunch, my fellow colleague with a pompadour wearing a checkered shirt and denim pants, Dennis tapped my shoulder.
'Sir Bob, you are being called ', said Dennis
'All right. Where?', I asked
'Mrs. Fritzgerald's '
'All right'
I closed my lunch box, slipped up my mask and walked into the research room.
'I have something to tell you, Bob', Mrs. Fritzgerald said.
'What, madame?', I asked.
'You shall see'
What is she trying to tell me?
YOU ARE READING
Story of Bob
ActionA great catastrophe has befell upon the world and the population is dying. To solve the great pandemic, a grand genius by the name of Bob, must fix his reckless errors in creating the virus and set things right. Will he succeed in his quest for r...
