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The Worst Day

It was as if the Angel of Death descended upon us, without the comfort of knowing whether you had the mark of safety over your door. We sat huddled at our desks, wondering, waiting, hungering after any news. Rumors zipped along the various communication forms like wildfire, bringing names. More often than not the e-mails […]

It was as if the Angel of Death descended upon us, without the comfort of knowing whether you had the mark of safety over your door. We sat huddled at our desks, wondering, waiting, hungering after any news. Rumors zipped along the various communication forms like wildfire, bringing names. More often than not the e-mails would come, confirming the rumor. “I can’t believe it” became the day’s refrain.

By afternoon we began venturing out. Huddled in doorways and hallways, questioning, comforting, supporting, we began to put the pieces together. More names flowed upon the ether, with more goodbyes and good lucks handed out. Some had been expecting, making plans; others were just beginning to process. All were sad. Those of us who remained questioned which was the luckier set. For today was pink slip day. And so tomorrow the work begins.

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