A Meeting With Fate

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  Abbey eyed the clock, watching its hands and their unstoppable march towards destiny. Her meet and greet with fate. She swallowed uncomfortably and waited, trying her best to relax into the green leather chair she was perched so precariously on. The secretary at the desk looked up, annoyed, as the chair squeaked and groaned beneath her. The lobby they sat in seemed, for all intents and purposes, a casual affair – a misleading prologue to the main event that waited behind the grand teak doors – but despite this air of fauxlaxation the woman beneath the perfectly coifed hair seemed like a real bitch. In any other situation Abbey would have flipped her off without fear of any serious repercussions but she had an inkling the present circumstances called for a little more civility, despite the woman’s douchelike tendencies. A couple more minutes passed in the same awkward silence until finally the little red light above the door turned green and – noticing this immediately – the secretary informed Abbey that she may head in. Abbey considered the finger once more but decided to play it cool just a little bit longer.

  She got to her feet with all the bravado of a first timer on Broadway – trying their damndest to exude confidence but severely rattled nevertheless. She approached the doors, pushing one open a fraction and sliding in before closing it quickly behind her with a soft thud. The office was as tall as the foyer – taller, perhaps – and gave off an aristocratic air. Abbey immediately recognized it as a place she disliked immensely. Pretentious was the first thought that came to mind, but before a second could form she spotted the man in the chair behind the desk, with skin so dark he was hard to spot between the rich folds of black leather. He word a timeless suit, its style forming no preconceptions other than panache.

  “Hullo” he said slowly as Abbey’s eyes finally locked with his whiter-that-white eyes peepers.

  “Hi” Abbey said, aiming for nonchalance but landing squarely in terrified.

  “I’ve been waiting for you, Abbey,” the man said with a thrumming crescendo of a voice.

  “Really?” Abbey said, confused.

  “Well no,” he said, smiling, “I knew exactly when you would walk through that door – to the very split-second, in fact – but I find flaunting my omniscience often daunts you guys.”

  “Yeah…” Abbey replied, thoroughly daunted.

  “In fact I’ve had this meeting pencilled in for a good… how old are you again, Abbey?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “twenty-two years,” he continued, and laughed a rolling thunderclap of a laugh. Fate, it seemed, was not without a sense of humour.

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~ by Joseph Blame on December 10, 2010.

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