Pink slip.
I told them to fire me rather than my buddy who can’t speak his mind. They were gunning for him, but I couldn’t let them. He’s got a wife and a kid and another one on the way. I got nothing, but me myself and I.
I had to do it.
Now, I can expose them for all the lies they’ve been hiding from corporate.
Let the games begin…
When he opened his eyes and found himself still alive, it was astonishing. His brothers had dared him to jump, told him he would see all the wonders of the world in the three seconds it took for him to hit the water. He had foolishly believed them.
He held his breath and expected to hit the water hard, denying their claims of what he would see. There was no way all the wonders of the world could be seen in three seconds.
When he came up and took a breath, he saw them.
She held a different kind of energy like he had never seen or felt before. When the oracles had told him he would know the woman as soon as he saw her, he hadn’t believed them.
But the woman was so magnetic, he knew he would have to go back to the oracles and fully apologize for his foolishness.
“Excuse me!” He said, following her over to the bar, where she waited for a drink. “The oracles told me you would be my destiny.”
She laughed. “The oracles told me you would be my first kill.”
Graduating is a big deal. We are in the season now where high school seniors are graduating, College seniors graduating from all kinds of majors. Those are huge accomplishments.
Let’s take the time to look at the smaller of graduations. Pre-K graduating to kindergarten. Hospital inpatients graduating to rehab and beyond. Most of these are small steps to most, but HUGE accomplishments to others.
If you know anyone graduating, reach out to them and congratulate them. It might not seem like a lot, but it is a big deal.
The nickname was unfortunate, but only for reasons she knew. To everyone else, it was tough, butch, manly, inspired fear into the hearts of any man that crossed her in the bars and clubs.
Chop. Like Chop Shop, or so everyone assumed.
She didn’t have the heart to tell them it was because her brother had called her Porkchop when they were kids. The nickname had stuck, before his unfortunate motorcycle accident.
He didn’t recognize her anymore, but the nickname still stuck to her like glue.
A spur of the moment, once in a lifetime chance where he had asked her out to a rock concert.
There was no way she would show up. She was head ballerina. He had tried to woo her after her performance, and there was no way she was going to show up to a dirty dingy bar on the other side of town.
“You are rock and roll to me.” He stared as she stood there, not looking anything like a ballerina. “I heard it in a song once.”
He sits on the sidewalk of the busiest streets, full of life and busy people. He holds a cardboard sign, weathered by the elements and age. His cardboard sign has a simple message:
Free Your Mind
Most people look at him with disgust, think he’s a poor man who’s lost everything as they pass him, hoping not to touch him. You see him, and he sees you.
He’s free, and now so are you.
No matter how many times he washed, he couldn’t get clean. His hands stayed stained with ink, blood, and dirt deep in the wrinkles of his hands, where not even the strongest of soaps could reach.
Each stain held a memory. The salmon colored paint he used on the upstairs bathroom, the blood caked under his nails from plugging his buddy’s gunshot wound in ‘68, the dirt trapped under his wedding ring from when his wife had wanted to start a garden (despite her black thumb).
All memories he couldn’t wash away with mere soap.
The visit hadn’t been expected. She was alone when she let the knife slip through her skin as a last resort.
Just one well placed slice and they were there, her family members who had passed, watching her with the blade as if she were on display.
“Honey,” her gram said, touching her arm with a solidness that felt so real. “There is so much more after this you need to go and enjoy.”
She dropped the knife and picked up the phone instead, tears streaming down her face.
“Mom, Dad, I need help.”
“The end must justify the means,” the voices whispered as she traveled through the dark caves.
The voices of her ancestors, calling her home as she traveled through the winding caves toward the altar.
She had been chosen as the sacrifice to the gods that year, and she promised not to disappoint as all the others had.
“The end must justify the means,” she answered, her voice barely above a whisper.
She stepped up onto the altar just as the sky above cleared.
Lightning struck and she was reborn.
The photographs over the last year said more than she could ever put into mere words. When she had left, her brother was a little twerp, hellbent on tormenting her days. When she had returned, he was a young man, still a little imp, but better at understanding how things had changed.
Her parents and her friends all welcomed her with open arms after being gone for such a long time, but she knew she had to get rid of all of them to go back and be where she truly belonged.
He rushed down to the cafeteria, his sneakers whining against the linoleum floors. Biscuits and gravy for lunch, and he couldn’t miss it. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten them when warm and fresh, usually something tended to distract him in the busy hospital.
“Doctor!” The harsh charge nurse called out as he sped past her in his excitement. “They’re serving meatloaf instead.”
His dreams were dashed, but he kept the smile on his face. “Do they still have the carrot cake?”
“Quarter if I shine your shoes, sir?” The boy was skinny, dirty, and covered in coal dust. Not quite old enough to work in the mines, but getting close. His jacket was too big around his shoulders, too worn to be his own.
The business man looked down at his perfectly shined shoes. There was something in the way the boy looked that made him pull a quarter from his pocket and pass it to the boy. “Keep it, young man,” He said.
He was about to sign the papers that would make the town apartment buildings.
Doubt surged through her as he made another excuse for being late. She had set up dinner, had timed it perfectly to when she knew he would be home after work. She had waited for him, but he had been two hours late coming home.
They argued that night. He wouldn’t give her any explanation. Her doubt grew further.
A week later, he came home early with a bouquet of roses and a puppy.
“Sorry, I couldn’t tell you why I was late,” He said, giving her a kiss. “I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”
She stood at the foot of the bed, holding onto the railing for dear life as she looked over the wrecked body before her. She hadn’t expected the accident to be that bad, she hadn’t expected to find herself there, at the foot of his bed, hoping, praying, wishing for good news.
“Tissue?” The doctor next to her asked.
She nodded silently, and took it from his outstretched hand.
“I hate to do this so soon,” The doctor continued as she watched the machines breathe for her husband. “But we do have to start thinking about options.”
“If I’m not back in an hour, go on without me.”
Forty-five minutes and she was starting to get antsy. The hour mark quickly approaching, she felt her mouth water, and not in any way that was appetizing. Her stomach turned, her heart raced. Fifteen minutes remained, but it felt like a lifetime and not enough time.
Fifty-eight minutes and something told her he wouldn’t be returning, so she began to pack it all up and take what she could.
One hour. She left, as he had instructed her to do.
The task was monumental. Too much for one man to undertake. The fear pulsed through him, latched onto his own racing heart beat.
“I’m going to kiss that nurse!” He thought to himself and in the flash of a moment, he grabbed her, a complete stranger, dipped her, and kissed her like his life depended on it.
He worked for them for months before he gave them his two weeks notice. He had worked night shift for them, busted his hump to make sure things ran smoothly, rolled with the changes the best he could, though things changed a lot.
He finally gave his two week notice because the higher ups refused to notice him and his needs.
He realized that he could do so much better, so he did.
Squeezing lemons was easy. Squeezing the life from her eyes was a lot harder.
Squeezing out a lie of why his sister couldn’t make it down to dinner was difficult. Squeezing through the bars of the jail cell was even more difficult.
He was now a felon, but he could still lure women in with his smile and his subtle scent of lemons.
The house lay empty and barren after the billionaire died. He hadn’t had any children, had married too many women, but had never produced an heir.
So many riches saved up, all lost to time, and looters and museums because there was no heir to claim them.
He had treated his staff well, and gave them what he could, but the vast majority of his riches were taken and distributed to all of the museums of the world.
