Yes, my mother is...
|Yes, my mother is...|
How It Begins
As usual, you arrive at work a good half an hour before you're supposed to start. Time enough to drink a little something and do some boring but needed paperwork in peace.
In spite of that, about once a week, someone manages to come in even earlier than you. And today is one of those days. A skinny, frail, androgynous, and almost anonymous in their plain sweatshirt and trainers, person is sitting on one of the four plastic chairs making up your waiting room. Well, sitting may not be the best of words seeing how much they're fidgeting and blatantly oozing with stress.
You're not a morning person (OK, you're not particularly better at noon or midnight), but you're not so cold-hearted as to leave them be for another thirty minutes, so you invite them to enter. They nod, stand up as you unlock the door, and are unable to hide their surprise over how barren your office is. A couple of cheap chairs, similar to the one they were resting on, a table, a metallic cabinet, and that's all. At least you have a window, even if the view goes only as far as the concrete wall of a nearby building.
- Yes, my mother is... (Skarn; 01-Oct-2016; Web browser).