Whispers and Shadows Vol. II, The Marionette's Lament

The second volume of Whispers and Shadows has been compiled. It should be available shortly. Here is a bitter taste: 

Chocolates. Individually wrapped. Each one offers a choice. She plucks one out and looks at it, considers it briefly. The decision had already been made. The milky shell dissolves almost immediately, as it was designed to do. Then there’s nougat, requires teeth, embraces them, won’t let go. Tongue slivers over each jagged surface, digs between molars to free the remnants. Mouth is left creamy, dry. She reaches for her coffee, room temperature, sweeter than the candy but artificially. Saccharine and low-fat creamer. It washes the inside of her mouth. First a utilitarian gulp, to cleanse. Then another sip, to taste it again. And again. Coffee doesn’t fill. It eats, it empties the pores of the tongue. It aches in the stomach. It leaves the breath stodgy, and oaky and sour. In her purse, next to the cigarettes and Excedrin she finds the mint chewing gum. Unwraps a piece. Bites down. The flavor explodes, rolls across the gums, purifies the palate. She chews, and chews. The motion is methodical, relaxing. But the flavor soon fades, leaves a ball of putty she stretches, separates, recombines with her teeth. But it becomes cumbersome. A foreign object. She considers swallowing it, hesitates, then reaches back into her purse. She finds the receipt from a dress she had bought two months ago. It didn’t fit, so she planned to return it. She wads the gum up inside of the paper and places the package carefully into her pocket. Her computer screen continues to glare at her, a hum of computer key clicks and groans of office furniture hover over the surrounding cubicles. She picks up an ink pen, squints her eyes deeply at the online form in front of her, a Human Resources skills update she is required to fill out by Friday. “What are your goals with the company?” She puts the back tip of the pen in her lips, it dangles like a cigarette, long and precipitous, then gets launched back between clenched teeth. It feels artificial, tastes like dust, like canned air. She bites down. It’s stronger than her teeth, anxious to wear them down. She launches a new internet window, checks her email, her Twitter account. Nothing new. She yanks out the pen and presses it into her bottom lip, feels the tiny circle dimple the tender flesh. “What are your goals with the company?” She reaches for another piece of chocolate.