Ficlets

Maybe We're Lying...

It was a Dark and Stormy night. I hate it when they’re on schedule because it means I’ll have to close even when I’m scheduled to clock out at 8. Darla says she appreciates it, but do I get a raise? No, because Darla thinks if she gives me a raise, she has to give everyone a raise.

My hand to God, I get the macro-destabilization subcircuit to stop blowing out, I can tell you who the first two people I’ll disintegrate are.

But I digress. I’m re-organizing the RPG shelf because some kids were skipping school and hanging out earlier, when “Brian” sidles out from between Home Office and Family and asks if he’s late.

“Yeah, Captain Dork, you’re late,” I say, and he pulls back and glares at me.

“What did you call me?”

“Oh, sorry, Brian, yes you’re late.”

“Brian” has blue skin and glowing eyes and wears a trenchcoat all summer. Subtle.

Then “Denise” runs in, breathless and reeking of ozone. Oh, and her cape is hanging out the back of her sweater.

Yeah, I think. One of those evenings.

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