Words By Whittall

  Bob wanted to make sure everything was perfect. Jack had asked for his help and he wasn’t going to let him down, feverishly consulting his list while packing the car and scavenging for supplies. He admired Jack. Looked up to his older brother. He would move heaven and earth to make sure he arrived with everything they would need. Flashlights: Check. Two of them to be safe. He took the one from the kitchen and the one from Ethel’s bedside table. Surly she wouldn’t need emergency lighting for just a couple of days. Jack hadn’t said, but the weather looked good for the weekend, so Bob assumed that’s how long they’d be gone. Matches: Check. Oh wait, what if it rains? Bob rifled through the pantry until he found the zip log bags. Best to keep those matches dry. The paper too. He’d already packed last week’s Supersaver fliers, so he grabbed a plastic bag, dug the papers out of the box in the trunk of the car, put them in the plastic bag, back into the box and back into the trunk. ...

  Kendra's world turned upside down on the day of her performance review. She hated performance reviews. Stupid form. Stupid questions. Stupid job descriptions that had no bearing on what she actually did. Worse than the bafflegab, though, was talking about herself. How good she was at the job she wasn’t doing. Strengths, weaknesses. What a bunch of bullshit. She felt like a fraud at the best of times. Her reputation, she knew, was stellar. Colleagues called her “the Author Whisperer.” She was the most-sought book editor at the most prestigious Moseby and Sons Publishing House. Prestige didn’t put food on the table, though. Moseby and Sons paid its employees poorly and treated them worse. Kendra couldn’t remember a time she came to the office as late as nine o’clock in the morning – the start time listed here on the stupid form. It made no mention of her twelve-hour days, the weekends spent in the office, or the long nights on her couch editing manuscripts in her pajamas. Nope ...