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You're fired ... but
The Hatchet Man by Begin Again
 Category:  General Fiction
  Posted: March 17, 2010      Views: 347

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Begin Again is a resilient "senior citizen". Reinventing and restructuring her life has become almost common place for her.

I love music, books, and sitting by the water. Each of these activities brings a sense of life to me.

She is an accomplished script writer and is currently at the #11 spot on the rankings.

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Tap! Tap! Tap!

My stilettos played "Dead Man Walking" against the sidewalk. My office building loomed ahead. The doorman raised his eyebrow as I neared him.

"Good morning, Mel."

"What's good about it, Sam?" I snapped.

He nodded, "Dog eat your Transit Pass?"

I hastened through the door. "Funny, I used that last week."

Miss 'Dolly Parton' Wanttabe sashayed into the elevator. The lobby reeked of cheap cologne. Tongue wagging, Mr. Bloodhound followed behind her. Drool hung from his lip. I completed the trio.

"Looking a bit rough," Bloodhound barked. Dolly giggled.

"Overslept," I clipped, trying not to breathe. Eau de stink permeated the cubicle.

The moving deathtrap stopped at my floor. I exited. Fresh air zoomed into my lungs. The twosome snickered.


The mailroom boy charged out the office door, followed by laughter, slamming his cart against me. Blood trickled down my leg. Packages spewed across the floor."

"Sorry, Mel." His cherub face puckered.

My head was already on the chopping block, so I helped retrieve his parcels.

I liked the innocent kid. "What's up?"

He muttered, "I asked for Mr. Masturbation."

I rolled my eyes. "You mean Mr. Mazurbatlen?"

"Whatever!" The peach fuzz on his chin bristled. "Guy should change his name." He propelled his cart down the hall.

Taking a deep breath, I entered the lion's den. Heads snapped in my direction. A few snickered. Others cast pitiful looks. One or two pretended not to see me. I marched toward Jack's office and sure death.

Miss Goodie Two Shoes stood by the water cooler. She owned the "on-time award. "Tsk, Tsk" rattled around her organized brain.

As I passed Char, she turned, offering a smile. I nodded and continued.

"Psst ... Mel!" She raced toward me.

"In five minutes, we can talk, Char. You're fired doesn't take long to say." I moved away.

She grabbed my arm. "You skirt is stuck in your waistband."

Realization set in. I'd traveled through ten blocks of morning commuters with my thong buttocks exposed. Several wolf-whistles assaulted me.

"Thanks." I yanked my skirt down, squared my shoulders, and charged forward.

Ten feet from Jack's office, his assistant, Miss Busy Bee, buzzed me. "You're late!"

Duh! She can tell time.

Jack's private office door was closed, but his booming voice penetrated it. "You're fired!"

Was he practicing or did another poor fool have the opening act. I didn't have to wait long for my answer. Peter rushed from the office.

My turn.

Swallowing the bile in my throat, I stepped closer to the guillotine. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Char waving and running in my direction.

A reprieve?

"Here's the papers we finished last night." She shoved the Taylor Project into my arms. A newbie handed me Jack's favorite coffee. "Make it good, Mel."

Sweat trickled down my back. I offered a pitiful "Thanks!"

"Friends till the end." They held two thumbs up.

I can do this!

I strutted into Jack's office, smiling and cheery. "Got your coffee, Jack, and the Taylor Project."

Leaning back in his chair, feet on the desk, he didn't look like a hatchet man.

Maybe I've got a chance.

Words bubbled from my mouth. "Worked so late, I needed some octane. I stopped for coffee. I thought of you, too. Construction bottlenecked our favorite shop, but I couldn't let you down. I maneuvered morning traffic another three blocks, double-parked, and ran in. I came out in time to see my car being towed. I hailed a cab. The cabbie spoke little English. Took me to the wrong side of town. Mr. Taylor's son, the one we met at the last meeting, spied me. Offered me a lift. Knowing it was an opportunity to chat, I accepted. Unfortunately, by the time I got to the office, your coffee was cold. I tossed it and brought you one from downstairs." I was gasping for air.

Jack swung his legs off the desk, accepting the coffee. "I thought my morning was bad." He sipped the coffee. "Had to fire Peter Stalon for being late again."

I swallowed hard. Waiting for the ax.

"Thanks, Mel." He eyed me standing there. "Was there something else?"

"No ... no, nothing else." I backed away.

 "I liked that dress on you yesterday, too." He smiled.

Mortified, I realized I'd grabbed the same clothes. "Late night," I muttered.

"Take the day off. You deserve it." He picked up the telephone. I was dismissed.

You're Late! writing prompt entry

Writing Prompt
Please write a humourous flash fiction story based on the prompt in the announcement.


Author Notes
Please write a humourous flash fiction story based on the prompt: You're late for work because you overslept, but your boss hates over-sleepers. He does love entertaining stories, so create the most outlandish excuse as to why you were late.

~ Story must be between 500-750 words.
~ Story must make the readers roflmao. ;-)

Word count - 743
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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