Saturday, May 14, 2005

Volume 1, Issue 2

The fiction continues, for better or for worse.

The inspiration for today's series of entries came from - where, yesterday, Andy selected the 13th prompt as yesterday was May 13th. You're dealing with creative minds, you see. That prompt read:
Write about a weird day in your workplace.
Of course, we're all about making stuff up here, so everyone was under orders to take the prompt, mix with a good dose of fiction, and come up with 100 words of carefully distilled genius.

Looks like we might have a lot of Les Nessman mea culpas coming up after this issue...

Laurence : Lucky Bastard
I work in a call center and the company owner is really cheap.

Of all the awful things here, the chairs here are the worst. They are old, worn-out, and cause frequent painful injuries.

One guy was speared with a spring and lost a kidney. Another broke a wrist and an ankle when a wheel just completely let go. A third rolled out of a window, never to be seen again.

Bob got it the worst. One day, he's typing away, and we hear a loud CRACK!

He's in a wheelchair now. Can't feel anything below his neck.

Lucky bastard.

Andy : Creep

I shove my right arm into the shrinking space between the elevator doors.

“Sorry,” I say.

She nods, looks forward again. My parking lot guess from ten yards was spot on: the front is as good as the back.

The doors close.

She watches the digits. Red hair, spilled against a white blouse stretched tight across her tits. Nice ass, navy skirt, just a shadow of a panty line. I imagine my hands running up her pale legs, raising her skirt, touching….

The doors open.

The stout receptionist from nine steps in; she smells of sweat and rubber chew toys.

Michele : Mugged

Since Jen’s death her coffee mug has gone untouched. It’s like one of those roadside memorials, with the flowers and signs. Instead of roses, there’s mold.

On the third day, the mold has formed a circle the size of a Kennedy half dollar. It’s a small bruise; black and green with a crop of fuzzy pus around the edge.

By the fifth day a layer of dust has formed on the outside of the mug, and Garfield and Odie sport a five o’clock shadow of grime.

On the seventh day, a new girl takes Jen’s spot. The mug is gone.

Stacy: Dorfman

They just took Dorfman out in a body bag. Which is good, because he was beginning to smell, and I have to get this report done by five.

The cops interrupt me with questions. No, nobody liked Dorfman, he was weird and he smelled like onions all the time. People would walk across the room just to avoid the stench coming from his cubicle.

Not that he smelled any better dead.

No, I don't know who might have wanted him dead. Someone who was trying to get their report done, maybe? Ha ha.

Twenty minutes to five. Back to work

Ted: Les Nessman Copout

The Les Nessman character on the TV series WKRP in Cincinnati wore a band-aid in every episode. Either on himself, his glasses, or his clothing.


Blogger Elisson said...

Don's Night In

He had been waiting a long time for this evening.

Everything was ready; he’d seen to that. The chilled Champagne, the candles, the flowers, the scented oil. The freshly laundered sheets.

And now she was in his arms.

His chest pounded with desire. He forced himself to breathe.

She nestled her head in his lap, sought him greedily. He moaned, pleasure building within him like a breaking wave.


Afterwards, Donald lit a Mallardboro and exhaled slowly, blowing flattened smoke-rings. The night would not be cheap, but so what? His credit was good. She would put it on his bill...

May 15, 2005 8:08 PM  

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