UNSEEN PROSE AND POETRY
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He was under the siege of three union executive members.
There was the Secretary standing over him ; there was the Treasurer puffing away at a cigarette; there was the Organiser lounging near the door, a deadpan look plastered on each of their faces like a death-mask.

Incredulous, he sat in a pensive mood. How cloud the others do such a thing? His discontent turned to silent anger that simmered.

''I think it is not right, '' he said, just managing not to explode from his growing anger.

''You sign that sheet, Mr President,'' ordered the Secretary in a barely audible but stern voice.

''Why are you doing this?'' he asked, his voice not giving any hint of the boiling cauldron of screaming anger in his chest.

''Will you sign, Mr President?''
''All right,'' he said, now seething amiably.
He took his pen, picked up the sheet of paper and looked over the signatures. Then he proceeded to tear up the paper into shreds.