The Diary of Cliff Jenkins, competent company worker:
Not exactly sure why the company wanted to have their meeting here. It’s the Korean thanksgiving holiday called Chuseok, and they scheduled the meeting in Busan.
Looking out my hotel window, it’s barren. Very few people here. Haeundae Beach has no people. The streets have nothing.
I’m waiting here for my compadres. They were supposed to show up 4 hours ago. I wonder if they got lost. I know that it can be a bit of a run down from Incheon.
And now the text from the boss, “Meeting cancelled. See you tomorrow at work.”
Well. That confirms it. It’s a lonely town tonight.
It was supposed to be a fun filled weekend of paintball and male bonding for the 50 men from Woodbridge Manufacturing. All expenses paid by the company.
It turned into a fight for survival.
In a swamp, close to the cabin, two clumps off reeds stood among old broken tree stumps. Terry and Gonzalo peered through the reeds, fear covering their face.
“I didn’t sign up for this!”
“Quiero ir a casa con mi esposa.”
“I understand that, mi amigo.”
They both held their paintball guns up, looking around for their predator. A rustling made Terry jump.
“GYAH”
*boom*
“OW! I’ve been SHOT! This does NOT HAPPEN to me!”
Terry turned around to find his boss, the expert paintballer, on the ground. A big red stain covered his chest. His eyes went wide. Gonzalo shook his head.
Currently writing this on the road…in Suwon, South Korea (the capital of Gyeonggi Province). Enjoy what my mind throws up!
Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Manic Monday
by Miles Rost
I never thought I knew of a place called hell. That is, until I found myself in a delivery job in Beverly Hills.
“You need to drop the first set of packages in the back alley behind the consignment store next to the Victoria’s Secret on Rodeo Drive, but not the Victoria’s Secret expansion across the alley,” my boss told me.
It was like he was speaking Korean to me. I looked at him sideways.
“What’s the name of the consignment store?” I asked.
“How am I supposed to know? I don’t do deliveries!”
So I went with my gut and looked for the Victoria’s Secret store. There were 5 of them within 2 blocks of Rodeo Drive. So I put them in the back alley, on a building that said “Rags to Riches”, next to the Victoria’s Secret.
I was fired the next day for incompetence. When my boss couldn’t even tell me the right place.
I think I’m going to go to the beach and punch a mime.
(Author’s Note: If you’re interested in reading the previous four stories of Mayumi, please use the tag “Mayumi” to find her stories.)
Mayumi’s Story (Part V)
“The View From Your Window”
by Miles Rost
3 months at her new job, and she hated it. With a passion.
Contracted for a year, she had to ride out the entire ride while she dealt with all the pressures of whining customers, a boss who was indifferent most times, and unable to communicate properly at the monthly performance meetings. The customers were right, she knew, and she did the best she could to take care of them. However, without the communicative support of her boss, she was not going to be happy until she was out of there.
Mayumi survived the rest of the week, though panicking that she could be let go from her contract at any time. This made her stressed out more than usual, as she was counting on the 1-year longevity bonus to help her pay down debt. It was daunting, as well, as her friend at the station moved onto greener pastures. She was the only one left, and had no other friends at work to talk to.
A 4 day vacation was in the offing, and she was happy to get the time off. A substitute for the show was taking over and she was going to have a few days to relax and rest.
Until day 2. When the pains in her belly started.
Sidelined in her apartment, with not much food to eat as she couldn’t go out to get groceries, she sat in her bedroom. At her desk, she had a piece of paper in front of her and a pencil.
“What can ah write? I wanna write but ah have no clue…” she muttered, as she stared intently at the white sheet in front of her. She took a breath and decided to just take a look out her bedroom window. It was there, and it wasn’t four walls of a dark room, so why not?
She opened the curtains, and looked out. Immediately, she was shocked and surprised.
She looked out the window and saw a beautifully cared-for lawn, freshly cut and beautifully manicured. Close to her was a dark area of ground, with small little green shoots poking up like hairs on a forearm. Lining the fence down the side of the lawn was a series of bushes that reminded her of the lilacs that grew around her family’s home back in Hornsby Shire. She smiled as she saw all of the new beauty that was being created from a space that not even 3 months before was a ramshackle home, which she realized did not look so ramshackle anymore.
The peeling paint of the old house had since gone, and was painted with a fresh coat of brickhouse red. The house’s color fit well with the brick-walled apartments 30 feet from the back door. The trim of the house stood out like the white peppermint of a candy-cane.
Whoever owns that house really wanted to make it noticeable, she thought to herself.
Just as she was about to stand, she noticed the back door open up. She saw a young lady, almost the same age as her, though her appearance was quite shocking to Mayumi. A cherubic face framed by cotton-candy pink hair, with a black t-shirt and black shorts, the young collegian looked to be very punk-like, despite the lack of make-up. She was smiling, as she walked down to the earthen part of the lawn.
She put on a pair of gloves, and picked up a water hose that was nearby. She squeezed the green snake-like hose and a stream of water misted out over the sprouting earth. She laughed as she continued to spray the area, gleefully enjoying her time watering the garden.
As Mayumi watched the young lady, she had thoughts of her home and her dad, an ardent greenthumb. She loved watching him while he worked his hands in the garden, and picking berries from the vines that ran across one part of her family’s property.
She closed the semi-transparent curtains in her room, as she turned to write things from her own heart onto the paper.
Here’s your latest installment of Friday Fictioneers. I will have other stories coming up soon, since it is Lunar New Year and I’m not being swamped with utter and complete stupidity.
copyright Claire Fuller
I Hate This Job
“What the heck is going on out there?” Mr. Dworkin called out from his office.
The shop was all quiet except for a solitary robot, working at a CNC lathe.
“Hey! You! Lathe-boy! Where did everyone go?”
The robot kept working on the lathe, paying the old man no mind.
“Well, whatever you do, don’t be smoking on the job. We have wood in this place.”
Just as Mr. Dworkin sat down again, the head of the robot popped off and smoke started to fill the workshop. He looked up, and growled.
Music and Fiction 