No one had seen Paloma since last week.
Mr. Campbell wanted to put up a help wanted ad in the Times.
I wasn't too worried, because P was recovering.
At least, that is what she told me.
The CEO had asked,
"Evan, who knows? Maybe you can work here full-time
instead of volunteering."
It would've been a dream, but I wouldn't step over P.
I'll think about it, sir.
I walked around, sweeping any thing in my way,
until I saw her once again.
Like before, she was glaring at me
with that million dollar grin.
Coincidentally, she stood next to The White Flag
so I decided to surrender to her games.
I pushed the broom aside, walked over,
and introduced my name.
YOU ARE READING
Aesthetic
Short StoryEvan is not sure if its the art or her that takes his breath away. Highest Rank: #135 in Poetry; #604 in Short Story
