static air

It's time. You muttered under your breath, hoping no one could hear the icy enunciation that sent shivers up your spine. The room was adorned in grey, black, and metallic colors. Its sterile decor made you not want to disturb its cleanliness or create a handprint that would be deprecated. As you proceeded towards the crowded mahogany table, with only dark suits surrounding it, a stutter you didn’t know you had presented itself. Your first mistake. The leather seat was so inviting and comfortable but you sat on the edge, trying not to move anything out of place, not wanting to cause a disruption. Your head shies in the opposite direction, staring at the ground, and refusing to look away you try to regain composure. You didn’t need to look up to feel the focused eyes on you. From the moment you sat down, you could feel them examining, trying to understand. The monotonous voices started to become muffled as you lost yourself in the dark lake of your subconscious that you frequented often. Were you sitting alright? Was your dress too short? I can’t believe I stuttered. You began adjusting yourself, swinging your long hair out of your face to your back, tugging your dress down. The soft speaking paused and transferred their attention from the room to you. You weren’t trying to distract the conversation. From the moment you sat in the chair the clock before you crawled. With each blunder, you felt the hourglass being flipped once more, and the hour restarting. The never-ending cycle continued.