The following is a work of fiction.
Flat Earth
Miss Yolanda Drupe, age 29 and two thirds, of Somewhere, Earth, is going to die. Well, of course when I say that, I mean that she is
going to die soon, surprisingly and in such a significant way that it will
change the world as Humans know it. Stating it in that way is more for
emphasis, really, sort of sets the tone, lets you know the narrator means business
and that that business is, in fact, death. Which will be visited upon Miss
Drupe, as previously stated, in a most astonishing and unexpected manner.
It all began with a gumball machine.
Yolanda was going to miss her bus, which meant she’d have to
wait for the next one to come along 15 minutes later, which meant Edmund Dormer was going to be sitting at his desk by the time Yolanda got to work at
the small law firm where she was interning and that meant suffering through The
Eyebrow.
Yolanda despised The Eyebrow, which belonged to Edmund Dormer, her immediate superior, especially when it was raised in her, Yolanda’s, direction, while he, Edmund, glanced primly at his perfect gold wrist watch
on his perfect bony wrist and made the tutting noise that Yolanda especially hated.
Yolanda also hated the word “superior.”
...
