Stories by A. E. Dooland

“You’re here!” Bree said from where she was seated against my door, as if me showing up at my own apartment was a pleasant and unexpected surprise. “Hi!” My heart was still going. “What the hell are you doing at my home?” I paused, remembering the coffee. “Again!” She stood up a little awkwardly from… — read more

It took me a hundred metres and couple of odd looks from strangers to forge through my self-pity and come to a decision: I shouldn’t have left her alone there. I stopped on the other side of the footbridge, made a face and then spun and went to walk back to the restaurant. She’s just… — read more

“That doesn’t look like a Red Bull,” Henry remarked as he leant over my partition, his eyes on the full coffee cup in the centre of my otherwise empty desk. I was frowning at it, too. “Are you trying to quit again?” Hah. I’d long since surrendered to the fact I would be drinking myself… — read more

There was a beautiful poetry about arriving fresh at work the following morning to an office full of groaning, baggy-eyed co-workers half of whom were almost cradling their head on their desks. The timing couldn’t have been better, either, given that awful photo that they’d taken of me yesterday. I took far too much pleasure… — read more

It was a good thing I’d disabled vibrate on my mobile, because when my alarm went off in the morning, there were a hundred and nine messages waiting for me on Deviant Art.  I lay there, half dead, staring at the little white numerals at the corner of my screen and wondering if I had… — read more

When I was choosing a career, I wish someone had explained to me the difference between marketing and sales. If they had, I could have been ‘networking’ right now – and by that I mean drunk under a table with prospective clients somewhere – and not sitting at a table on the thirty-sixth floor of… — read more