She came out of the mists of the long corridor like some queen of the legends from a myth or tale of heroics told around the campfires of distant histories. The mop and bucket she carried though, were obviously an artefact from this age. She strode into the late night deserted office with the stride of one born to rule and dropped her bucket on the floor, some of its waters splashed over the edge as if they were trying to flee from the power of her mop.
A late night desk worker glanced up fearful as he heard the mop bucket strike the floor. He could see – in her unblinking eyes – that she was here to clean and that nothing and no-one was going to stop her. His hand trembled as he shut down his computer and began to gather his things together: his jacket, mobile, briefcase and sandwich box, all the while his frightened eyes watching in case she made a move for her polish and duster.
He ran for the door, papers tumbling from his open brief case and an empty crisp packet falling from his sandwich box like the solitary tear from the eye of one who knows they are defeated by this unforgiving land. Her scornful laughter echoed in his ears as he made his way desperately towards the lift, hoping he could escape before he heard the dreadful roar of her vacuum cleaner chasing down the corridor after him.
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