Heels echoed along the cool floor tiles that was amplified by the close corridor walls. A muddy snail trail followed her once-white lace train, as petals from her strangled bouquet fell like Autumn attacks the trees.

Her make-up was smeared like melted paint down her cheeks, dripping onto the bodice of her saturated princess gown. Her hair stuck to her skin like octopus legs clinging onto the rocks of an ocean’s floor.

On a mission without a mirror, she stormed through to an open workroom and glared at the few workers seated at their desks staring at their PC’s screens.

“WHERE IS HE?” Her voice bounced off the windows.

A young man, half raised in his seat, pushed up his glasses, asking, “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. His collared shirt’s top button undone, dropping his golf putter behind the desk.

“How did you miss that?”  She pointed out the window where trees bent over as their leaves were shredded to become wind-whipping debris. Rain was nothing more than cyclonic sideway walls of water, highlighted by lightning flashes as the ground shook from the thunder.

“Um, sorry.” The meteorologist shrugged his skinny shoulders while straightening his tie.

“Yeah, me too. Catch.” She hurled her sodden bridal bouquet at him. “How do you people stay employed when you consistently get your job wrong?”

250 words.