Lurking in the dark dusty 7th floor corridor, the grad student stared down rows of empty, after hours office doors. Sensing the incoming bomb drop, he’d tried to prepare but hadn’t been able.
Nearly 10 pm now and he knew; his pompous thesis advisor, over an hour late, wasn’t coming. Shuffling his final thesis signature pages, he sighed; no signature, no candidacy! No candidacy, no diploma! Digging into the bottom of his backpack, his fingers found the scissors, sharp and slick, nearly nicking off his pinky in the process. His advisor liked the campus bar, frequented after classes.
His cell phone glowed out 10:45 now; just enough time, before they called last call…
What’s chomping at your grey matter this funky Friday??Tell me all about it. The darker, the better!
Ciarfella's Fiction Corner 