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Author Club Anthology
Author Club Anthology
Author Club Anthology
Ebook58 pages48 minutes

Author Club Anthology

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About this ebook

This Author Club edition is an anthology to showcase new writing talent both from the UK and overseas.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateJul 2, 2018
ISBN9780463223574
Author Club Anthology
Author

The London Book Fair

The Author Club showcases new writing talent both from the UK and overseas.

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    Book preview

    Author Club Anthology - The London Book Fair

    Table of Contents

    Author Club Anthology

    Black Market

    One

    Kill Me Again

    One

    Two

    Three

    25 New Bullets

    02:01 AM

    09:05 AM

    02:11 AM

    About the Author: Ozge Gozturk

    About the Author: Joanne Carlton

    About the Author: Natassia Johnson

    Copyright & Publishing Information

    Author Club Anthology

    The London Book Fair Author Club

    Black Market

    Ozge Gozturk

    Another ordinary office day blossomed when a few youngsters gathered by the coffee machine, positioned adjacent to my desk. I left the file on the finished tray and took a new one. I had a peek at the girls again; four of them were standing there gossiping with exaggerated cartoon-like impressions on their faces: eyes wide, lips squeezed. I turned back to my report. The numbers were running around like ants on the white paper; I put my finger on one to catch my thoughts before they faded away in the swirl of curiosity. Two hundred and forty-three: Yes that was higher than twenty percent. Before writing it down, I heard that the redhead youngster was giggling out loud. Not only me, but everyone in the office looked at her.

    I pressed my finger harder on the paper.

    The number was seven hundred and forty-three, I misread it last time. They hadn’t been getting together in the last few weeks as they used to. They’d been through performance reviews, to give HR an idea about who would be fired at the end of the year. Friends became competitors, coffee breaks were over. So it couldn’t have been a vague rumour that had brought them together again.

    There were only three files in the finished tray. I took a few unfinished ones to make my walk to the archives look more realistic, stood up and headed there.

    ‘Oh no!’ the redhead was saying, ‘Why not?’ the other asked, as I walked by them.

    As soon as I reached the archive, I left the files and hurried back.

    Finally, I heard a full sentence on the way back. However, it was only the beginning of an explanation, which was even more annoying than hearing nothing at all.

    Curiosity was such a nasty beast. I couldn’t even sit back. I took a few more files and looked around. No one was watching me. I made a second round and slowly walked towards the coffee machine. I stopped mid way, which was far enough away not to get noticed but close enough to hear them. I opened a file and pretended to check it. Ants ran around on the white paper, numbers, threes, nines, eights. I grabbed one’s leg. Four thousand and thirty-four: such a loser number. An experienced eye like mine could tell almost anything about a company just from looking at these numbers: the coffee brand they drink, whether they keep hand lotions in the toilets, the weight of their printer papers, whether they drink still or sparkling water, their dress code, the size of their office desks, which computers they use, how nutritious their lunches are, whether they reuse their plastic files, whether they’re stressed, depressed, social, happy. And of course, how many people work there – including the unregistered ones – and for how many hours a week in reality, despite the information in the reports. I can estimate all of the hidden – illegal – information with almost no fudge factor. Qualities and quantities of everything they possessed, these little ants whisper to me about their secrets. Funny how I was so into finding out about the lives of others.

    ‘So expensive!’ The redhead put a hand to her mouth, five fingers stretched out to stress the surprise. That’s when I caught myself staring at them. I lowered my head and kept walking before I was busted. I left the files and rushed back, wondering which manager they were talking about? Could it have been one of my friends upstairs? But who? I grabbed another pile of files but put them

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