Crash!
Aoife knocked the stupidly loud clock to the ground, a crashing and smashing of springs and mechanism echoing around the mostly deserted offices, shattering her concentration as effectively as the wood and glass had been shattered off the polished floor. It was late, or at least late to be at the office, unless your name was Aoife Delaney and after months of virtually no work whatsoever all hell was suddenly breaking loose in the world. Hell which needed to be quickly transformed into something far more likeable.
It was solely this fact which attributed to the vast pile of work sitting upon her desk, work which was to be done by the end of the week or else, and which would, unless she worked until midnight, not be done by the end of the month. It was not as simple as just lying, for lies could be easily seen through. No, everything Aoife said had to be rooted somewhere in the murky depths of truth and honesty, the spin hidden behind the good intent of the British Ministry.
Finishing one report she chucked liberal amounts of sand across it before rolling it up and chucking it into the completed basket which stood, dishearteningly empty, beside her desk. What she needed was something a bit more interesting than the composition of cauldron metal or the pros and cons of a trade agreement with Luxemburg. She was not, however, likely to get it. In the competitive world of public relations Aoife was yet to reach that top rung of the tree. It was nothing to do with her not being good enough at her job and instead everything to do with certain incompetent blondes sleeping with their bosses in order to achieve promotion. Aoife may have been ambitious; however she drew the line at that. She would achieve because she was better, not because she was prepared to let some slimy politician into her pants.
Resting her quill upon the clutter of her desk, Aoife glanced around for any sign of a mug of coffee and realised that some very thoughtful secretary had tidied up. Aoife couldnt have been gone for more than ten minutes in the past three hours and yet someone had definitely moved things. Her mug was gone, her ink was at the other side of her desk, and her second best quill was lying under a pile of semi tidied reports. Aoife was usually a neat freak, however even when she wasnt she could at least find her way through her own organised chaos. Now she was at a loss. Nothing was in the right place and therefore nothing made sense.
However there was no one left to blame, everyone had gone home, and there was only Aoife left at her desk, confused and overtired with a mountain of work still to get through and a smashed clock at her feet.

To aim, and fire, and arbitrate
Tween life and death; not knowing hate



