TEXT: They were trying to achieve a phase work balance across all human resources, in order to maximise capability. Bay was a rogue. He knew that a balance wasn’t required for greatness. All it achieved was a standard, a measurable, steady level of work. But no one knew why the spark appeared, why connectivity happened. It was still a mystery of electricity, of thought. Bay declined the invite, avoided meetings, didn’t fill out the staff surveys, refused to wear uniform and missed the employee engagement sessions. For some reason, they hadn’t given him the sack. Bay couldn’t really understand why they kept him on. Maybe they just needed a circuit breaker in order to keep things exciting. It gave them something to talk about, he supposed.
TEXT: The tiles were the colour of heron. They were cold against her face. It had been a long night, and the heat was unbearable. The door was very tall, and she was sure the door key was in the bottom of her bag, somewhere. Each time she moved her head, the world span. The cubes were making her feel ill. She closed her eyes, they were sore. Sleeping on her own doorstep, curled like a cat, waiting for her owner to wake and let her in.