Wednesday, June 21, 2017

Twist Ending 12

I haven't done one of these since 2014. I suppose I could have, but most of my "bad" experiences are usually just minor annoyances. Ames is generally such a friendly city, I never have any encounters with people mean enough to immortalize in fiction. I probably see hundreds, if not thousands of people a day, as opposed to the maybe a couple hundred, at the very most, that I see at home, and I really can't complain because most everyone in Ames is just super nice.

Sadly, this story happened at home. Literally my second day back. Not even kidding. My cousin even joked about me being inspired to write another story as soon as I got back to work. We laughed, but little did I know that her joke was practically a prophecy. Why is my small town so much grumpier than a big city?

Since I haven't written one of these in so long, I haven't even created a logo for the series. I think I started doing logos for my different series after I'd written the last one. Anyway, since I like my stuff to have images,  I decided to quickly whip one up. I really hope I never have anything worth turning into one of these stories again, but just in case...


 photo End_zpsivlibkcn.png


"Give me a pack of Pall Mall Blue 100's," the elderly man demanded.

"Sure thing. Do you have an ID I can scan?"

"F@&#! Why the h@% don't you type in a birthdate like everyone else?"

"We're not allowed to, we have to scan everyone's ID."

"Don't give me that $#!!, you could skip it if you wanted to!"

"I'm sorry, only the managers can skip the ID, I'm not a manager."

"Yeah, I can see why!"

"I'm sorry, but unless I call a manager to override the system, I have to scan an ID."

"Yeah, you just wait until I get this whole place shut down!" He exclaimed angrily.

~

That night, as the man sat in front of his flickering, 12 channel television set from 1975, eating a lukewarm, Swanson's frozen dinner, his doorbell rang.

"Who the #@&% is it at this hour! It's 6:30 at night! Why aren't you people in bed!?"

He hobbled over to the door and swung it open angrily. Outside there was a pale man in a black suit, holding a legal pad on a clipboard. On his lapel was a tiny pin shaped like a scythe.

"I was told you had a complaint?"

"What? What are you talking about? I have a complaint about you interrupting my dinner!"

"My records indicate that you had a complaint regarding the way an employee was following his company's policies. Do you care to elaborate?"

"Yeah, can you get that place shut down? Can you fire that guy?"

"No, that's not really my area. My area has more to do with karmic justice." The pale man began scribbling on his clipboard.

"Karmic? What's that? Are you some kind of freak? Get off my property before I call the cops!"

The old man slammed the door in the pale man's face and turned around to go back to his chair, but the pale man was suddenly inside, right in front of him, holding his clipboard.

"What!? Get out of my house!!!" the old man yelled.

The pale man tore the top sheet off his legal pad, handed it to the old man, and tucked the clipboard under his arm.

"You are hereby ordered to cease and desist from all temporal operations, both present and future. From this moment on, you are being reassigned to a new plane of existence. In the meantime, you will be required to complete a standard metaphysical training seminar to help you deal with the issues that brought you to the point of cosmic intervention. Someone will be along shortly to escort you to your next destination. Thank you for your cooperation, and I look forward to our next meeting. Good luck on your journey."

And with that, the pale man was gone, and the house was silent, save for the television, still flickering in the corner.

"I'd like to solve the puzzle Pat!"

"Go right ahead, Stever!"

"'Don't Fear the Reaper By Blue Oyster Cult!'"

"You are correct!" Pat exclaimed, and the audience burst into wild, cheering applause.

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