The stool was gone. And without it, there was nothing left to push.
She picked up the stool by its splintered top, walked to the loading dock, and threw it into the dumpster. The sound it made—a hollow, wooden clatter against the metal—was the most honest noise she’d heard in a decade. she had her stool pushed in facial abuse
Authentic. She repeated the word like a prayer as she sat, her feet barely touching the floor, her spine forced into a curve of supplication. The lights were hot. The camera loved the way she clutched her knees. The stool was gone