Damages

For today's blog entry, I'd planned something whimsical, something snoopy and harmless. You see, as I mentioned last time, I've been staying late at the office, finishing work, sometimes even sleeping head-on-desk for a few hours before the sun comes up. My girlfriend's been haranguing me about how little time I've been able to spend with her. Oh. Wait. That's right. I don't have a girlfriend.

So, the other night, when I was here at the home office all by my lonesome, I did a little walk-through of the Queen Bee's workspace (we have an open-portal policy here at work, meaning our cubicles/compartments/corners have no locks on their doors). I snapped a few shots, for your pleasure and edification.

Here's the general overview of her well-appointed-yet-tastefully-spare space, and please note the time on the desk clock (11:17pm):

Here, a closer look at the desktop, including the unladylike sludge remaining in Her Morning Chalice and the ominous, dagger-like letter-opener:

Someone, please explain this to me. I know it's "art," but it makes my head feel like a splitting cube. Points to anyone who can properly identify its provenance, because I surely can't:

Then, to properly complement the impeccable, measured, angularity of the office and its contents, the Queen Bee brings a little nature into her environment. But, being the Queen Bee, she must obviously bend nature to her will. Hence, the bonsai:

See? Whimsical, lighthearted, lovely. But then again, there's this:

That is what happened last night. While I was in my compartment, door unlocked, presence unknown. I heard it happen. I'd been working, peeked out as I noticed the Vampire come in. Their voices were low, pleasant, and I barely paid attention. Then there was an explosion. I froze, didn't move, couldn't move. I knew I couldn't say anything. She couldn't know I was there.

I waited, silent, and listened as she made a phone call. To whom, I couldn't make out. A half-hour or so later, The New Girl showed up. A few minutes later, she left again. Why wasn't the Queen Bee calling the police?

I heard her walk toward the ladies'. I crept up the hallway, into her office, and saw the blood spatter. I don't know why, but I snapped that picture. It was terrifying. And I had no idea what had happened. Did she kill him? Did he kill himself? I wasn't going to stick around to ask. I took off down the stairs before she came out of the bathroom.

I went home, showered, watched a little New York 1, and came back to work. By this time the police were everywhere. And me, I kept my mouth shut. For the time being, at least...