Die A Little Death

I'd told everyone I knew what I was doing. A real pro. So when the sound system had a connection problem and no one could hear the introductory speaker, my heart dropped instantly. Not because of the mishap. I could talk my way out of a mishap.

Rather, I had no idea what might be wrong. My boss was going to kill me if I didn't get this fixed immediately.

I frantically tested every possible combination of cable and jack hoping for a miracle.

At least the electric shock that killed me happened quickly enough I never felt a thing.

We Will All Stop Using Acronyms

Friday afternoon: Another email pinged through from the boss, full of acronyms and bullet points. Bullet points always made Stella want to shoot herself.

“WTF,” Stella replied. “This is CRAP. CBA, TBH.” She went home.

***

Monday morning: “Stella. My office. Now.”

***

“Well, of course I mean Wednesday/Thursday/Friday,” Stella explained. “There’s to be a Completion Report After Production. Your IRK suggestion Can Be Arranged. Your third request, the prioritization protocol presentation, I’ve marked To Be Handled.” She drew a long breath.

***

Another email pinged through as Stella returned to her desk: “Moving forward we will all stop using acronyms…”

Stella smiled.

From Guest Contributor Fiona M Jones

Ghastly Ghosts

When I took the cashier job, it wasn’t explained to me that I’d be working with the supernatural. I didn’t abhor spirits, but those ghastly ghosts were frustrating. When I’d enter an amount in the computer, it deleted, and the customers would get angry at the slow checkout. So, I had another chat with the boss, and he told me he dealt with it, and if I couldn’t, then I should quit.

The next day, a sign on the door read: “STORE CLOSED DUE TO PESTS.” When I looked through the window, boxes of ant traps danced in the aisles.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Undercover

The clatter of typewriters, especially Maryanne’s, echoes in the room. She’s pounding heavily on the keys to reach the deadline. It’s imperative she gets done before the other women if she’s to prove herself capable. She reaches the end and pulls out the paper. With quick steps, her heels clanking on the floor, she heads to her boss’s office.

“Well done, Maryanne. You’ve proven yourself. You’ll be going to France as an undercover secretary. Are you up for it? I can’t help you if you’re caught.”

Maryanne nods and waits for instructions.

She has no idea the danger she’s in.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Assignment

I had been told of the dangers of the assignment and assured my boss that I could handle it. Now on the dark, ominously quiet streets after curfew, in Nazi-occupied Poland, I wondered. I told myself I’m doing it for my country and for myself.

I hid the folded map in the secret compartment in the heel of my shoe. If I am captured, we will all be tortured and then executed.

I continued until I reached my destination and handed over the map to the leader of the resistance.

I finally let out a sigh of relief and wept.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Dragonfly And Crow

We—who were left by the fire after the boss stood on the flame's waving edge, wearing his black suit and immaculate boots, to tell the dragonfly and the crow that had bedeviled his every moment since the fire's first spark that he had found a solution and would soon be free of their cruelty, that he, the boss, would soon pull off their wings and grind them into dust, and then turned, the boss, and ran into the flames—joined our hands before spreading blankets on scorched grass, opening bottles of cold beer, and sharing figs fatter than those in eternity.

From Guest Contributor John Riley

John is a former teacher who works in educational publishing. He has published fiction and poetry in Smokelong Quarterly, Mojave River Review, Ekphrastic Review, Connotation Press, Banyan Review, Better Than Starbucks, and many other journals and anthologies. EXOT Press will publish a book of his 100-word prose poems in 2022.

Dancing With The Boss

“Listen...it’s that song where, in the music video, he picks someone from the audience and starts dancing with her.”

“He has better songs.”

“Did you know she became his wife?”

“You got it wrong. She’s an actress.”

“What do you mean?”

“Before she became famous for her role in that sitcom, she appeared in commercials and music videos.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to, but check him on the web, search for his wife and check her picture.”

“...”

“It isn’t the same one, is it?”

“Could I have been wrong all these years?”

“Looks like it.”

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé Suys (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

Brief Affair

On night three of a four-day meeting, four of us drank in a bar. I played up to Jim, who was 20 years older, the boss, and buying.

A young blonde walked up and clasped Jim’s shoulder. “Let’s dance.”

Jim cut out faster than our company bonuses.

“She should be carded,” Tony said.

Jim returned quickly and gulped his drink. He signaled for a refill.

“You’re early,” Phil said. “I didn’t expect you ‘til morning.”

Phil, why don’t you suck up to the boss?

“Was she a pro?” Tony asked.

“She shanghaied me,” Jim said, “to dance with her mother.”

From Guest Contributor Tom Snethen

Tom is an Oregonian writing about the scoundrels he met in the chemical industry and being alone and scared as a widower at fifty.

Clever

Sydney prides herself on her cleverness. Her teachers and prospective lovers (usually different) always commented it was her most identifiable trait.

So it's frustrating when this critical character component fails to impress. Like when she explains to the traffic cop that coming to a complete stop was both unnecessary and a waste of fuel, and she's doing everyone a service.

Or when she told Ian that kissing her boss simply made her appreciate Ian more as a boyfriend.

Neither did he laugh at her joke about the dog dropping his bouquet of white flowers to bark at its own reflection.

Special Sauce

Maybe advertising was the wrong field for Bob. His boss, Ralph, passed him up for the accounts he wanted, like “Granola Gambit” and “Veg It Up,” giving those to his arch-nemesis, Ted. Bob kept getting accounts like “Killer Shrimp” and “Pork for Your Fork.” (Bob was a known vegan; passive aggressive much, Ralph?) Bob would’ve left ages ago had it not been for his secret love for his coworker, Darlene. He couldn’t shake the vision he’d had of her one day when he’d come upon her eating barbecued ribs like a wild animal. She’d been covered in sauce, but adorable.

From Guest Contributor Susmita Ramani

Susmita lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and two children. She’s a lifelong writer whose work has appeared in The Daily Drunk, Nymeria Publishing (winner of March 2021 poetry contest), 50 Word Stories, and Vine Leaves Press (50 Give or Take), and will appear in upcoming issues of Short Fiction Break and Secret Attic.