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Tibalt
May 14, 2017

What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee

I'm in.

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Tibalt
May 14, 2017

What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee

Cleaning Up Aisle 9
1,265 words

Irreplaceable.

FOR NOW.


If I stand in the right places, the words echo and rebound like starlight through the mirrors of a telescope, bringing whispers to me. Even Management doesn’t know the extent of secrets and gossip shared in their offices, vibrating through the air ducts like struggling flies on a web. “Did you hear about...” says the Spider to Jenny in HR. I had deftly plucked and played and finessed these invisible strands of secrets to secure my hopes and dreams, to eliminate my rivals and secure my domain. I had made myself Irreplaceable.

FOR NOW.

The words chilled my very soul, uttered by the General Manager to my superior but undoubtedly aimed at me. If I was an expert of retail politics, the General Manager was the fearsome Old Master. I carefully arranged the newest delivery of Barbies on the end cap display that Mattel had “generously” donated as part of their new roll out of World Explorer Barbie. I stepped back to admire my work and mulled over the words. Had I overstepped?

No, I could be… obvious in my contempt for the mewling Man-Things that trespassed on my domain, stealing the toys that I displayed for the sweet children of the world. But something had been different, as of late. I could smell Him, that monster in human skin, that defiled my domain and raided my treasures to use as bait for His perversions. He kept coming back, driving me frantic.

That was what sparked the incident. I thought I had caught Him and confronted the young man. The smell is what had attracted my attention at first, the scent of dirt weed and body odor and aggressively masculine deodorant. I figured it was how He hid his scent from me until He already escaped with the bait. The young man even had the patchy, wispy goatee of a central casting pedophile.

He had filled his cart to the brim with Legos, several hundred dollars’ worth, but he didn’t have the air of a collector. I trailed him across a couple aisles, like a shadow. He was more focused on the cost than the contents, ignoring the beautiful Slave I in favor of a half dozen stupid Delta 7s that had sat unloved since 2013. When he picked up the Hypno Cruiser and seemed to debate buying the silly thing, I made my move.

“A bit early for Christmas shopping?” I had asked. He had startled and jumped back, caught in the act.

“N-no, actually, uh…” He stammered, hands up like the criminal he was. “They’re for my son’s birthday party. My stepson’s, I mean.”

“Oh, how nice!” I had said, too loud and too excited, stepping into his personal space. “How old is she?”

“She’s turning, uh, 7,” He muttered, leaning back and refusing to make eye contact.

Triumph.

“Your stepson, or your daughter?” I asked, already reaching forward. His eyes went wide, and he turned to run, but it was too late. I flipped him to the ground with the move that Loss Prevention taught all the managers. They would already be on the way. “Stop lying, scumbag! Tell me the truth!” He started to blubber out his lie again, but I add enough light pressure to his joint to make the tendons creak. “The truth now!”

“I’m going to burn them!” He screamed, tears and snot streaming. “I’m doing it for the vine!”

I let go of him like cold iron, but the damage had been done. Between the blatant bribery of Public Relations offering him the Legos and Loss Prevention’s subtle intimidation, they had cajoled the idiot into signing all the necessary legal documents. But that only solved one problem. The other problem was sent directly to the General Manager. Voidmart had little use of liabilities that created problems. The General Manager told me so personally, along with the punishments meted out if the incident was repeated.

No one is truly Irreplaceable at Voidmart.

But right now, I needed to worry about my work. Borneo Barbie would work better in the end, I decided, and switched her out with Angola Christie. To hell with Mattel’s display directions, it just looked better with Christie in the middle. Much better.

I turned to push the cart to the back of the house and froze. I could feel the sickening perversion oozing through my department. There was no doubt in my mind, He was here. But catching Him wasn’t part of my job – the General Manager had been terrifyingly clear on this point. But… I couldn’t let Him hurt the children.

I closed my eyes and focused. I could feel His presence constantly, like a slug trail of sick and filth smeared across the board games and bicycles and collectibles, but not where He was exactly. Fine, then. Opening my eyes, I started stalking through the aisles, glancing down each one quickly. Not the father with his son, not the teenager near the trading cards, not her, not him, not…

Him. A clean, professional suit with an immaculate hairdo and not a hint of 5 o’clock shadow. He was holding an Optimus Primal toy, smiling to Himself. I followed as closely as I dared, just out of sight. He didn’t seem to be aware of my presence, but constantly criss cross and double backed through my department. Was He searching for something? Or, perhaps, someone - A child, left unattended and vulnerable, in between my gifts and presents. The thought made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. But I couldn’t just confront Him, not if I wanted to avoid the wrath of the General Manager. All I could do was watch, as closely as I dared, and hoped I caught Him making a mistake.

He picked up speed and turned the corner faster than I expected. Damnit! I sprinted after Him, unwilling to let Him escape. I turned the corner, and felt a flash of deep, piercing pain in my chest and a hand over my mouth, covering my scream. “Nosy bitch,” He hissed, as He twisted the knife in my chest. I realized, too late, that I had walked right into a trap. One of those rare few spots where Loss Prevention couldn’t see. I put the worst toys here, the dreadful things that I honestly would rather be stolen. Even the youngest visitor to my domain didn’t bother exploring here. We were, and would continue to be, alone.

Well. If I’m going to be punished, I should at least do something worth being punished for.

I grip his wrist on the hand over my mouth, and squeeze until the Carpals and Metacarpals grind into dust. The fingers of my suit are ruined, of course, the strips of red flesh revealing the black chitinous claw underneath. He starts making a noise somewhere between a hiccup, grunt, and scream. My cheeks and gums pull back, revealing my mandibles and fangs. I sink them deep into His throat, cutting off the noise. It was too good a death for Him, too polite, but I was in public. He’s gone now, and I let the dead flesh drop to the floor.

Later, after Maintenance had taken over, I was trying to fix the smile on my suit enough to get home. I realized the General Manager was behind me. I froze, petrified, awaiting judgment.

TWO WEEK’S SUSPENSION.

NO ANNUAL BONUS.

PAY FOR THE CLEANING COST.


A pause, and then quieter, gentler.

GO HOME. GET SOME REST. WE’LL NEED YOU FOR BLACK FRIDAY.

And then I was alone again.

Tibalt
May 14, 2017

What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee

What the..., 80 words

What's he building in there?
What the hell is he building in there?
He's hiding something from the rest of us
He has a router and a table saw
And you won't believe what Mr. Sticher saw
He has no friends but gets lots of mail
I bet he spent a little time in jail
What's he building in there?
We have a right to know!
Oh.
It's a model train set.
That's really cool, man.
Thanks for showing us.

Tibalt
May 14, 2017

What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee

Fast, Good, Judging - choose two.

Tibalt
May 14, 2017

What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee

Sure, okay, in.

Tibalt
May 14, 2017

What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee

No One Ever Believed the True Story,
768 words

So there I am, buck gently caress naked, while 17 of the sweetest undergrads of Bennett College examine my package like TSA. I mean the works - staring, holding their thumb up to gauge size, one of them is sticking her tongue like Michael Jordan and my left nut is the rim. Ain't no thing, I'm contrapposto like a motherfucking while these fine Fine Art majors get what they need.

No, the reason I'm sweating bullets and trying to remember the name of every Homestead Gray inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame is because of the instructor. Right before I had stripped down, she had warned me - if I start getting hard, she'd slap it with a ruler.

Turns out, a Andy Warhol meets Grace Jones dressed liked Edith Head rear end bitch promising some light CBT can loving get it. Hey, there you go, fun fact I learned about myself today. Gonna have to meditate on what wire got crossed to usher in that particular fetish, yeah. At the moment, I had to think real hard about baseball. Especially with how she keeps circling me like that, slapping that ruler against her palm.

Cool Papa Bell, Buck Leonard, Cum Posey, Smokey JoH gently caress.

Yeah, Cum Posey may have been an amazing player, manager, and owner who turned the Homestead Grays into a premier team but right at that moment he was a loving MISTAKE.

*TWHWPAP* "Uuuuuuuuuuuugh..."

A moment of silence, and then I'm being chased around like an ebon Pentheus, with Grace Warhol slapping my rear end with a ruler and me punching and kicking a significant portion of the Fine Arts undergrad department in my attempt to get free. Eventually I make it to the bathroom, lock the door behind me, and surveyed the situation.

Myself: dressed in my finest birthday suit, bloody and scratched to all hell, and STILL somehow ready to go a round with Grace Warhol out there. My location: a basement-level woman's bathroom with one lonely rear end window, too small to squeeze my rear end through even if it wasn't barred. My status: hosed.

I search the trash and come up with a three pack of extra large panties san one panty, half used roll of gauze, and bullwhip.

Sidenote: What the gently caress, Bennett College Fine Arts Department.

But what the hell, I'm not going to argue. I, you know, gird myself for battle with the gauze and modesty with the panties, and take a couple deep breaths. Outside I could still hear at least four of the ladies and Grace Warhol, making sure I'm not gonna escape. Well, we'll see - they've got numbers, but I've got the element of surprise. And a bullwhip, yeah.

Anyway, I throw the door open and, well, it turns out that whips are loving tricky, so that doesn't go so well. All I make is a sort of thumping sound as the whip hits the wall, and I'm standing there like an idiot. The four ladies are rushing me and Grace Warhol is prying the whip out of my hand. I know I'm real hosed if they get me down, so I start swinging and kicking like mad, and next thing you know I'm making a break for the door.

Grace Warhol doesn't let up though, she's right there behind me snapping at me with that whip, so I keep booking it. The whole way I'm hollering like a madman and Grace Warhol is screaming out abuse and we're making tracks through the whole drat building.

Anyway, I guess at some point somehow called the police because we round the corner and three school security officers are standing there. They see my big black rear end in a pair of panties running at them full speed and Grace Warhol behind me cracking that whip like crossplayed Leather Daddy Zeus, and they do about the only sensible thing: they taze the poo poo out of the both of us and arrest us for public indecency. I'm not going to argue, that looks like some weird sex poo poo.

And there you go. That's the story about how I ended being chased around Bennett College in a pair of panties while an older woman was whipping me. Absolutely no weird sex stuff involved at all, your honor. Just a series of very unfortunate misunderstandings.

Um, yeah, it was Saturday. Must have been a Saturday class.

Well, yeah, I guess I was still "excited" as you put it, but I'll figure out exactly what that means for me on my own time, your honor.

But-

But-

But-

Okay.

That's fair, your honor. Thank you, your honor.

Tibalt
May 14, 2017

What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee

I'm in, please give me an ant.

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Tibalt
May 14, 2017

What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee

The Lady-in-Waiting,
747 words

“What are you being so anxious for? The decision is made, the plane tickets are bought, the funds are allocated - just tell her the truth.”

Hagar smiled at Dalia sweetly and squeezed her hand. “I know, I know. I was hoping she’d understand why it’s important. it’s just… I’ve never been able to tell my sister no, about anything. And I will be sad to miss the delivery.”

“Habibti, trust me, I’ve been an aunt. You won’t even be in the room and your mother will be hovering her so much you won’t have any space. Besides, you’ll regret giving up on everything you’ve worked for the last three years a whole lot more.” Dalia glanced over her shoulder and let go of her hands. “She’s back. I’ll talk to you afterwards, alright?”

Hagar nodded and smiled as Dalia turned to walk off. Sure enough, her sister Sarah was standing behind her a moment later, rubbing her non-existent baby bump. “Sorry, you know how it is, the little one is dancing on my bladder. Who was that you were talking to?”

“My friend, she works in the biology department.” Hagar replied, but Sarah had already stopped listening and was staring into the terrarium next to them full of ants.

“Ugh, they’re so creepy. Why do you need all of these bugs anyway?”

“They’re not bugs, they’re ants. And they’re all different and interesting. Those ones are Atta Cephalotes, a leafcutter ant. They’ve separated themselves into different castes for different duties. And even for leafcutter ants, they’re very unusual. See, there’s the rubbish area, where some of the ants are segregated - the soldiers will force them back if they try to leave. And the queen’s attendants are capable of laying eggs themselves, but it seems that instead of hatching the eggs, they feed them to their queen instead.”

“I still think they’re creepy,” Sarah replied, clearly uninterested and inattentive. “Sorry, I can’t wait until the end of the tour, I’m starving. You know how it is, eating for two. Come on, let’s head to the lunch hall.”

Hagar frowned but followed her sister. She had planned to tell her in her office, in private, but this was fine. She tried to ignore Dalia’s disappointed look.

-

“It’s your niece! How can you be seriously considering missing it?” Sarah hissed in a way that was trying to be quiet and failing.

“Because it’s important,” she replied, already prepared to lose the fight. “Surveying the Costa Rican forest floor has the potential to reveal countless new species, and shape entomology research for the next decade. It’s everything I’ve been working towards, finally.”

What use was it to argue with her sister? She would pursue the matter relentlessly until she got what she wanted, and even if that didn’t work, Sarah would recruit their parents and relatives to her side until they all wore her down.

“Nothing is more important than family,” Sarah shot back, not quiet at all now. “I can’t believe this is even a consideration, there’s no way you can go on a vacation right now, not when - um. Hello? Can I help you?”

Hagar looked over to see Dalia sitting down next to her. “Whenever my mother tells me ‘nothing is more important than family,’ what she really means is ‘nothing is more important than what I want.’ You must be Sarah. Hagar has told me all about you.”

“Um, okay? I’m having a private conversation with my sister, so if you could just, you know…” Sarah had never been as liberal and tolerant as her parents had raised her to believe, and Hagar was enjoying how uncomfortable the Palestinian co-worker was making her feel.

“Yes, I heard. Most of the lunch room heard, in fact.” Under the table, Dalia gave Hagar’s hand a comforting squeeze, and she squeezed back. “But I think maybe you’ll hear it better coming from someone else. Hagar is going to Costa Rica. It’s not a vacation, it’s important to her and to science as a whole. She’ll be back soon enough. You’ll survive. Now, come along Hagar, we’re late for the staff meeting.”

Sarah sputtered something but Hagar let Dalia lead her along by the hand. She ushered her into the office, where no one would be watching them. Finally alone, she broke down into tears while Dalia held her.

“It’ll be fine, habibti,” she whispered gently into her ear and stroking her hair. “We’ll be fine.”

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