Ms. Capalini sits in her office in the back of the workshop, her leather apron and goggles hung near the door. Frowning, she spreads the five manuscripts out on the desk, each one still folded and sealed.
"No peeking." a voice says calmly. Canolli startles as she looks around, then relaxes as Mr. Tenk points to the folded papers. "No peeking, there could still be some submissions tomorrow."
"Evening, Big Man." She slides the manuscript she'd been fingering the edges of across the desk. Huffing, she gets out of the chair and crosses the room to the window, her frustration apparent. "Do you realize we had 17 submissions last year? Illustrations.. It was.. so.. oh I don't know.. encouraging." Her voice trailed off as she leaned her forehead against the dirty glass, her breath making the window pane fog a little.
"You gotta have patience. Could be last minute entries.."
Canolli stared out the window for a few minutes, watching the plumes of smoke from neighboring factories rise over the skyline. Sighing, she began to turn from the window. "I just feel like no .. one... cares....." her voice trailed off as she realized she was standing in the room alone.
Reminder: The 3rd annual flash fiction contest concludes midnight tomorrow.. Read guidelines for it here http://cityofnewbabbage.com/reader/node/1085
reprinted from Miss Capalini's blog
Remembering Soliel: Music of Scotland
1 day ago