Standing Room Only

A World of Short Stories


The lights were so bright my eyes started to water.  How can people stand to work under fluorescent lights if they can’t see straight?  I debated on how long I could work in an office building considering I had nothing going on with my life. 

My parents threatened to cut me off if I didn’t start leaving the house.  They didn’t seem to care what I did as long as I didn’t do it in the house.  What they didn’t know was the fact I was working from the house, but they never believed me.  Somehow, being a writer and an artist didn’t mean anything.  An ‘official’ job and paycheck was all that mattered.  Apparently.  I was making a fine living selling my art and had been looking to move out within the next three months, but here I was, at a dead end job not doing anything productive. 

But I also knew if I could squeak it out until I saved enough for the deposit, I would be free.  I knew I could be successful and to do that I needed to not be chained to a desk from 9-5.  If I had only known my parents plans then, I would have moved out much sooner.  But never in a million years did I think they could throw me under the bus as they did.  Never did I think they could force their child to do something so atrocious.  Never again will I pay my bills on time. 

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