Here's a little fiction for 3WW. The words are ache, difference, suffer.
She glanced at the wall clock again and took another sip of watered-down coffee that tasted partially like the Styrofoam cup in which it languished. Fifty minutes left. The better part of an hour. Longer than her favorite TV show, sans commercial breaks. Longer than a decent nap. Longer than she’d be able to stay awake if she kept listening to the suited man at the front of the room drone about Initiatives in Customer Service.
He was enjoying this too much. She nodded and smiled like she was engaged in his presentation, but the difference between her and him was that she hadn’t morphed into some inhuman corporate devil beast. She just worked here.
Over her shoulder, the double doors remained firmly closed, blocking any sound from escaping the room. Would anyone passing know she was trapped in here? The man at the front of the room giddily displayed a pie chart. She thought about pie and ached for a banana cream. She couldn’t make up her mind whether she’d throw it or eat it. What was in banana cream, anyway? Maybe she could pick one up on the way home. Maybe she'd bump into this guy at the grocery store. What would he have in his cart? Antihistamines, probably. Root beer schnapps.
If she’d known this morning that she’d have to suffer through another mandatory cheerfest, she would have spiked her coffee. Or called in sick. Or ran away to Mexico.
Mexico sounded great.