The Boss

I stare at the computer screen, but I can’t focus on what’s on there because of the waves of despair flowing through me. Tears roll down my cheeks. My throat feels like I’ve swallowed a thousand wasps and they’ve got stuck half way down and decided to have an orgy.

“Blakeston, why aren’t you working?”

I wipe the tears from my face and spin around in the office chair, trying to smile. Don’t show any weakness. Grown men don’t cry.

“Just on it, boss,” I say, but I can hear my voice cracking because of the wasps, and the next thing I know I’m holding my head in my hands and sobbing.

“Oh for god’s sake, not this again. Pull yourself together, Blakeston, and get back to work.”

I look through my fingers at my boss. I sniffle back the snot that’s dripping from my nose and pick up the paperweight from my desk. It’s a solid glass dome with a picture of Blackpool Tower at the bottom, a souvenir of happy times. I swing my arm back, lean forward, and smash it into the cunt’s kneecap with all my might.

His leg buckles and he flops to the floor. I pounce on him, bringing the paperweight down on his knee until I feel the bone shatter, and the paperweight embeds itself in his patella. He’s screaming and his arms are flailing at me, but I don’t care. I’ve waited so long to do this. I stand up and stamp down on the paperweight, driving it further into his leg. He screams even louder. I smile down at him.

“Now pull yourself together and get walking again, you fucking cunt,” I scream.

I sit down and spin back to the computer screen. Now I’m feeling better, maybe I can do a bit of work on this stupid brochure the bastard’s been hassling me for.

“Blakeston, snap out of it man. It’s like you’re in some sort of trance. Make sure those designs are on my desk by the morning.”

I stare at the computer screen for a few seconds, then pick up the paperweight. I’m smiling when I turn to face my boss.

 

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About Marcus Blakeston

Ex-shouting poet, ex-fanzine writer, ex-angry young man (now growing old disgracefully). Living in sunny Yorkshire with his wife, children and motorcycle, Marcus still has a healthy distrust of all forms of authority.
This entry was posted in Fiction and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to The Boss

  1. David Jewitt says:

    Good stuff, Marcus…enjoyed that!

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