Businesswoman Chapter 342

As the sun glinted through the robust leaves, Socialista sketched out her plan. In long hand, she wrote down what thr voices in her head screeched so loudly.

The screed she prepared felt like an epiphany in her head. The warm air coming through the window tousled her hair and made the pages rustle.

Every line had to be pointed and cogent. If she couldn’t achieve her goal of persuading someone, it all felt like a hoax. It remained a cruel trick to prey upon the unsuspecting, the unwilling.

In the same fashion, she slit her wrists across the street not down the road. A small incision, she had sensed the pulse as the tiny rivulets of blood poured in the paper. She hand wrote the rest of the piece in her own crimson sheddings.

The bleeding stopped and she stopped writing. The feeling, the very emotion coursing through her small frame had been a faint pain at her wound site and a relentless drive to continue to scribble down her words.

A feather flew in from the outside and she caught it.

When she had put the bloody pen to paper once more, she threaded the quill between her fingers. The softness and the tautness warmed her hand in the already balmy day.

She wrote forty pages without double spacing. Only her smart scanner would be abke to transcribe red writing.

The feather flew back out of the window, as she felt on the suede cushion under her. A plump green seat kept her upright like a giant plush tennis ball.

Everything she had made an attempt at doing she accomplished thise goals. Instead of tiring from her efforts, she doubled down on them.

The blood ran dry and she returned to ink. The blood, though, gave her strength.