Friday, January 18, 2019

Vacation Plans by John Patrick Robbins

Rick phoned his wife told her he was on the way home.
The office was a ghost town.

Rick always burned the midnight oil and that in turn had gave him a life he never imagined having.

He was the top tier in the advertising world.
Everyone wanted to do business with Venture advertising. 

They had all the top accounts.
You name they signed it.

As he stood waiting for the elevator he couldn't help but feel nervous.

He was far from a child but this floor during the day was like grand central station.

Now it was silent as the cemetery.

He stood there waiting for the elevator not noticing the man behind him.

"Hell of a wait huh boss?"

"Jesus Christ ! "

Rick yelled out.

"Who the hell are you!"

"Hey calm down chief didn't mean to scare you just maintenance had to replace some lights on this floor is all."

Rick was still rattled and a bit annoyed.

The guy that stood before was a mountain of a man standing at least six four and built like a damn linebacker.

Rick was amazed how a man could be so silent sneaking up him as he did.

Rick eventually got himself together as they both stood  waiting for the elevator.
and as it slowly made its assent to the top floor of the huge office building.

"Fuck do you repair elevators as well?"

The massive man laughed.

"Yeah it be nice if they designed this bastard to move faster than a turtle huh?"


They both laughed at that one as they struck up a conversation.

The man hadn't been working there long not that Rick would of known anyway.

He didn't truly pay attention to the hired help.
He was in the business of selling products not employee management.

Rick hated people in fact he mainly spent his days sleeping in his office.

The best perk about being the boss was knowing nobody could bust your ass for slacking.

But he was loved by the companies he made money for.
He had a wife and kids and  two mistresses on the side in the city.

For Rick the rules didn't apply cause he wrote the book and what he said was gospel.

"Shit you must hate this job."

Rick said.

The man just shrugged his shoulders. 

"Hell a man has to eat."

"Yeah I guess but I rather have more than a job if I had to bust my ass like you dude it would  drive me nuts."

"Well Mr Harris it has its moments."

Rick looked at the man puzzled for he just met him so he didn't know how he could know his name.

Just then the elevator doors opened.

But instead of the usual scene they opened to nothing but a empty dark space.

He felt the push and that was it.

The man who never liked the dark found himself free falling to his death.

The man who clearly was no janitor looked down into this abyss.

Laughed to himself and said.

"He asshole enjoy your trip."

Michael O'Brien was no maintenance man.
But he liked to think of himself more of a human exterminator.

It never mattered who the target was all he ever gave a damn about was the money.

He made his way to
the stairs.

Decided to have a smoke on a bench in the hallway before he made his descent.

Yeah smoking would kill you and so would Michael for a price.








About John Patrick Robbins:

John Patrick Robbins is a barroom poet and editor of The Rye Whiskey Review and Under The Bleachers. His work has appeared here at The Dope Fiend Daily and also at, Ariel Chart, The Mojave River Review, Red Fez, Outlaw Poetry Network, Horror Sleaze Trash , Synchronized Chaos , Boned Magazine, Five Two Poetry, Cajun Mutt Press, Blue Pepper, Blognostics, Piker Press, Spill The Words, And The Whiskey Writer.



 His work is always unfiltered.




No comments:

Post a Comment

Slivers by John Doyle

Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard  Anne Sexton 'Mourning' is such a stagnant word, a forensic patch one's...