Flack, Flak, Flake, and Sleep
The screen started to blur. I shook my head and looked at the clock. Eleven hours. Eleven hours I had been working on this.
I sighed and held down Ctrl+S to save the document on my computer. Our company was just about to release a new product, and as the head flack it was my job to write up the press releases. The words came with difficulty tonight—I was off my game, yet I had no idea why. It seemed as if every sentence I wrote was complete crap.
Of course I had to be a perfectionist, too. But when my vision started blurring I knew it was time to stop for the night. At least I got 8 pages done, I thought to myself. There would probably need to be a few more, but the hardest part was over. Now it was just a matter of filling in other details that customers should know.
I looked out my apartment’s window and saw the snow falling—each flake gracefully making its way from the clouds to the grassy ground. I could see the blanket of snow lining the front yard and street, as I was only on the first floor.
I closed my laptop shut and got ready for bed. I instinctively picked up a book on my nightstand, but I was too tired to focus on the words. I put it back down and turned off the light, quickly drifting into sleep and dreams.
Dreams of gunfire.
It erupted around me. I took cover behind the black sedan, my partner crouching next to me.
“Put this on,” he said frantically, handing me my flak vest with “FBI” in bold, white letters written on the front. I complied quickly, fastening the Velcro straps around my waist and shoulder.
“Cover me.” I nodded at him and swung up, firing into the third floor of the building across the street until my clip emptied as my partner ran behind another car. I quickly ejected the magazine and loaded another, cocking the slide and chambering a round. He nodded at me and I jumped up again, firing. He peeked out from his cover and took a few seconds to aim before firing.
The explosion of noise quieted.
One more bullet fired.
I woke up.
A. Page in the Stacks 