Heels echoed on the cool tiles amplified by the corridor’s walls. Watery mud created a snail trail by her once-white lace train, as petals from her strangled bouquet fell like Autumn attacks the trees. Make-up smeared like melted paint down her cheeks and dripped onto the bodice of her saturated gown. Hair stuck to her skin like octopus legs clings to rocks on an ocean’s floor. On a mission without a mirror, she stormed through to an open room and glared at the few workers seated behind their screens.
“WHERE IS HE?” Her voice bounced off the windows.
The young man, half raised in his seat, pushed his glasses. “Um, er, Miss?”
“Who said today’s weather was going to be fine?”
“He’s the boss.” He pointed.
She turned to face the senior meteorologist who stood with mouth agape, top button undone, dropping his golf putter behind the desk.
“How did you miss that?” She pointed out the window where trees bent as their leaves were shredded from branches to become wind-whipping debris. Where cyclonic sideway walls of rain were highlighted by lightning flashes and ground shaking thunder.
“Um, sorry.” He shrugged skinny shoulders while straightening his tie.
“Yeah, me too. Catch.” And threw her sodden bouquet at him. “How do you lot stay employed when you consistently get your job wrong?”