by Dominick Murray

Created on: November 12, 2008

Dusty sunbeams shone on to Angela's face through her part-closed drapes, warming her pale skin as they made their unhurried journey towards her shut eyes. A dream induced smile curled weakly on her lips. It was a good dream. A few moments later the shaft of light made contact with Angela's eyes. Her lids flickered as her body responded to the sunlight's intrusion.

Stretch.

Yawn.

Alarm Clock. Flashing 12:00 12:00 12:00.

S!*@.'
The word sounded over and over in Angela's head as her pulse quickened and mouth dried. Leaping out of bed, Angela grabbed her mobile phone which rested on her cluttered vanity table. The bold black figures hit her between her eyes like a hammer blow;

09:10

I'm late!'
There was some screaming.

Today was supposed to be the first day of Angela's exciting new life. One month and one day ago, this whirling dervish, this human Tasmanian devil desperately trying to dress, apply make up, brush her teeth and straighten her scruffy long hair, was a full-time retail assistant in a book store, part-time day dreamer and committed girlfriend extraordinaire.

One month ago and zero days ago, this one woman tornado, this frantic cyclone, cursing at her not having ironed her outfit, was a full-time book store retail assistant, full-time too-upset-to-be-a-day-dreamer and heartbroken ex-girlfriend of he-who-shall-not-be-named.

When he-who-shall-not-be-named ended their three year relationship, Angela took it hard, and for one week it was not pretty. But after only one week she decided it was time to kick start her life again and with some fortune, had secured a job as a trainee publisher with a notable publishing firm in London. As I mentioned, today is her first day. And as you can see, she is late.

09:20

S!*@.'
Angela pulled on her boots, alternating her hopping foot before falling into her laundry basket. She noted that she ought to do a wash, those clothes had sat quite long enough. Throwing her phone into her bag, Angela pulled her front door closed. She hurried to the end of her street and cursed her bad luck.
But as we know, bad luck is a product of bad preparation. This is Angela Unger; a prime example being that Angela neglected to learn that the number 27b bus, stopping at the bottom of her street now, would drop her moments away from her new office in only ten minutes. But she's running!

Arriving at her office, Angela looks at her mobile phone's clock;

10:07

S!*@.'

Sweat gathered on her face and clung to her back. Although she was in shape, Angela resolved to

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