Fred Aiken Writing

olivia puts down the magazine she had been reading for the past half hour when her name is called. she looks around to confirm that there are no other olivia’s in the room that the stern looking woman with brunette hair pulled back too tightly might be referring to. 

no one else budges. so olivia continues to get up from her sedentary position. her joints in her leg creak a little. her knees feel stale. her skin tightens with horripilation. as she walks over to the large metallic swinging doors, she thinks, i forgot to eat breakfast. but she didn’t need to, either way.