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A Sticky Situation
“William!! Lookout!!” cried a co-worker that was in charge of sticking the bubble gum to the pencil. William, or more preferably, Will whirled around to see his own multi million dollar business weapon pointing right at his face.
“For those who want something better.” Said a man with a slimy, green fading yellow mask. He smelled of cigars and month old cologne, his body was well built, but lacking in the legs department. His voice husk, like that of his father who was now dead. He did not fear this man, or the situation, for he had trained his mind assume that this would one day, come.
William sat in his plain, white and gray office, dreading the end of the day. A time of day that signaled he was to go home, to an empty home. His past was definitely not a pretty one, unfortunately it involved a lot of death, caused mostly by him. He was the CEO of an exclusive company named Estrin, they manufactured pencils that you could write with, that had bubblegum on the outside, and if the eraser was pushed, it would fly out a single bullet, eliminating anyone in the tip of the pencils direction. It was a multi million dollar company, they sold to anyone. Many of its customers were little children, and gangsters looking for something to discreetly murder someone. Lawsuits were impossible, the customer, had to sign a contract keeping the company secret, and preventing them from being sued or discovered from someone higher up in the game of punishment.
His past three wives had been killed by the very “pencil” that now sat in his lap, covered by his last wife’s dried up blood. He was the kind of person to keep everything in its rightful place, keep everything neat and clean, except for his man-slaughter weapons. Man-slaughter because all of the murders he had ever committed were that of his wives, and all of them mistakes. You see, he had been in love with all three of these women, but the death of all three of them had been complete accident. He wanted to love again, he wanted to feel loved again, but relationships seemed impossible for him to maintain.
The end of the day, time to clock out and head to his hollow, possibly haunted, gray and white, depressing to look at, house.
Getting to his porche that was oh so nicely given to him by his second wife, he heard a sort of screech, which could make cats scratch their own eyes out. Trying to ignore it because it was downtown New York, he averted his eyes, and went straight to the car, trying not to get involved. He drove straight home, his usual path, taking no short cuts or quick stops on the way, he kept to his normal routine, glancing here and there panicked to see if anyone was so stupid as to follow him. He made it home in 20 minutes, with 15 to spare before the evening news. He went up the three cement steps, stopped by the door to get the mail, and took out his key from his jacket pocket. When he got in, he put the mail down on the counter while he took off his beige trench coat. He turned on the TV and opened up a TV dinner, one of the many that surprisingly did not have freezer burn. He sat down, and dully looked through that mail that contained four bills, two bank statements and a letter with no return address. He opened the yellow, crisp envelope that smelled of cat urine. It contained a completely typed letter describing the way that certain person felt toward William. What he felt, was not good. This person had threatened him, and anyone involved with him. It said he would be shot with the very weapon he had created. He thought nothing of this, he had gotten threats like these before but no one had been stupid enough to do it. He tossed it aside and continued to watch the evening news which showed a man who had been released from prison thirteen hours ago.
The lights in his house had all been turned off, he lay quietly, thinking, hoping that tonight he would get some shut eye. His home was eerily silent, like always. His house was remarkable, it was worth 1.5 million. His first wife had expensive taste and enjoyed the life of luxury. In her day she was something to look at, a real beauty. Her death was his first killing, she had known about his job, and had understood it. One day, when they were discussing bills, he had gotten frustrated and hit the eraser against the palm of his hand, not thinking anything of it, and in a blink of an eye, the love of his life was somewhere better. He missed her deeply and wished he could have told her he loved her more, held her more, kissed her more, been with her more. The 0other two were almost the same, but two things stringed them all together, it was the weapon he had created that had killed them and it done by accident.
Teeth brushed, hair combed, suit neat and plain, he got in his car with his morning coffee. Everything to him was routine now. Driving to work he listened to the radio, “what has the world come to?” he said out loud, a song by Rebecca black called “Friday” was playing. He parked his car in his labeled, cleaned twice daily, spot. He took the elevator to the topmost floor, where his office and secretary sat, awaiting his next command. “Good morning, Jeanine” he said to his haggard, red-headed, eccentric, ugly-looking secretary. He walked briskly to his office so as not to hear her say hello back to hear her voice, that when she talked her spit sprayed everywhere. He sat in his chair and stared, waiting for something magnificent to happen to his dull and boring life. He looked down, and upon his desk was a letter. He sliced it open, many of his employees were not happy with a co-worker who ad been teasing them, threatening them, and biting them. It said that by code, he must fire this employee and this employee was to be called to his office first thing. He pressed the button on the intercom to speak with Jeanine. “Jeanine?”
“Yeth?” replied Jeanine, imagining her spitting all over the intercom, and her daily blueberry bagel seeping out of her disgusting, rashy mouth.
“Could you send up Roy Harman?” he hadn’t even talked with her for a minute and already he was beginning to get annoyed.
“Shoo-er, shir. Can I ashk why?”
“Jeanine, I think that is for me to know, and you to find out, alright? Now please send him up.”
“Shir, why won’t you tell me? I’m shoo-er I can help shomehow…”
“Jeanine, would you like me to treat you like a child or an adult? Because I am getting fed up with this, now stop asking me why, and please “ jusht do it” He knew it was rude to mock her, but this is how she would always speak to him, as though every god-d*mned thing he did, she was to know about.
“Ok, shorry shir.” She had Roy sent up. He entered William office with a huge grin on his face. He smelled of cat urine, dog food and feces. He had an unshaven face that was somehow handsome to the passer by. His body looked firm, but lanky at the same time. His hands freely playing in his pants. He didn’t remember hiring this man, but he wasn’t here to hire him, he was here to fire him.
“Please, sit.” He gestured with his hand as to where it would be easy for the janitor to clean up that particular spot.
“Thank you, but I would rather stand, I feel safer that way.” He then winked at William, which was very unusual.
“Ok, now, straight to the point. I have received a letter from various employees who are not comfortable working with you, they have said that you have teased them, threatened them, and bitten them, is that correct?”
“Yes, it is correct. So did you call me here to confirm this?” the man had now taken his hands from his pants and instead nervously touched his face.
“No, No I didn’t. I called you here to fire you actually. You see, we have a certain way we run things here, and the way you have been acting is not allowed. So now, as of 9:04 am, Roy Harman, you are fired, your last paycheck will be sent to you soon, and I wish you a lovely day.”
“Just a word of advice before we part, people usually want something better.” William did not understand this piece of advice, but nonetheless he would keep it in mind. Roy turned, ever so slowly and walked out of the office, leaving the door wide open.
4:00 o’clock came sooner than he thought. On his way to his car, a co-worker wanted to chat with him. It was light conversation, something to dull the mind and make it weaker. They were parked right beside each other, and not until today had they spoken. He casually looked at his watch and noticed that the evening news would start in 10 minutes, he said a quick good bye, when he heard his co-worker yell out.
“William!! Lookout!!” cried the co-worker that was in charge of sticking the bubble gum to the pencil. William, whirled around to see his own multi million dollar business weapon pointing right at his face.
“For those who want something better.” Said a man with a slimy, green fading yellow mask. He smelled of cigars and month old cologne, his body was well built, but lacking in the legs department. His voice husk, like that of his father who was now dead. He did not fear this man, or the situation, for he had trained his mind assume that this would one day, come. Like the death of his wife, it was in a blink of an eye. Surprisingly painless, he accepted it, and ushered death to come to him. He was dead, on the cement that paved his companies building. One of the richest people alive and those who knew it were dead. Oddly enough his last thought was “please don’t let Jeanine touch my things”