Just another job

It was dark.
And eerily quiet, but it was the darkness that was hardest to bear.

Lights flashed weakly on and off in an intermittant pulse; But one that if you looked for long enough, would burn its patterm into the back of your eyes.

He always hated coming to places like this... it was the sort of place where getting fat and drunk were the easiest things in the world to do. It was always at the last minute too. 'Just for once' he had thought to himself on numerous occasions 'Just once, I'd like to be able to get these jobs done sooner'.
No matter what he tried - when he tried - it never made a blind bit of difference; and he always ended up in the same maddening rush. It was enough to drive a person to drink.

He scanned the room. Nothing apart from shadows leapt out at him. He knew from past experiences that this was not always the case. Next, he checked for objects around himself - anything that could make a racket and alert someone to his presence. Nothing that could be easily seen.
He carefully took a step forward....
The sound of needles crunched sickeningly underfoot.
He winced with disgust; Why did these people do this to themselves?
He knew that some poor sod would have to pick them up... Someone would need to physically get down on hands and knees, and touch this crap! It wasn't that douchbag who's job it would be that he felt sorry for; Why should he care a jott about these insignificant lives? They didn't give a damn about him.
It was his knotted stomach that concerned him now.

His clothes felt heavy on him; as did the sack he was carrying. He found it odd that he'd forgotten about that sack. It was unforgettable in its ugliness; It matched the clothes he felt he had been forced to wear - perfectly.

A few more careful steps, and he reached his primary objective site.
He lowered the sack gently to the floor; opened it, and pulled out the first of six packages that were to be left, and slowly knelt down.
Lifting the object to his ear, he heard a faint ticking.
He smiled to himself.... These little bastards were going to get exactly what they deserved. This was going to be the kind of surprise you don't forget in a hurry; Just rewards for playing games, and messing people around for the past half a year.

He distributed the five remaining packages around the objective, taking his time to get everything just right.
He was in a cold sweat when he finished.

All this sneaking about was tiring, and his clothes now felt uncomfortably tight. He stood back up, feeling like a very old man.
The dizzying sensation that accompanies a tobacco smokers habbit - The term "Headrush" - quietly escaped his lips and slapped him in the face, nearly sending him back to the floor. He had never taken up that particular habbit, but as he regained his balance he vowed to give it a try.

Looking down, he saw them.... two needles stuck out of the knees of his trousers.
A wave of nausia engulfed him as he pulled the offensive objects out and dropped them to the floor. He found it odd; Only one of them had actually penetrated his skin, and even then it was only the very tip.... But he could feel its poison burning into him. He remembered seeing a chair earlier on, so rubbing at his injured cap; he went over and sat down.

It was a comfortable chair with a side table next to it. It looked as though someone had not long left the room; there was a glass tumbler with some dark liquid inside, and a snack on a small side plate. He didn't know how much longer he had before he got interupted, but he picked up the glass and smelled the contents. The sweet warming aroma of Brandy hit his nose.
He had to do it... He had to taste it. One day he would have to give up the booze, but that day wasn't today.
He took a small sip.

It gently flowed down his throat; warming his palate, and going to work on his olfactory system. Then unthinking, he picked up the snack and took a bite.
As he chewed, he let his gaze wonder. There was by far, too many ornaments, way too much crap dotted everywhere the eye could see. As if a short sighted room make-over specialist had been employed - by some long sighted moron.
It was quite tidy though..... A real shame, as tomorrow morning it would look like a bomb had hit it.
A wry smile played across his face.

He hadn't noticed half the glass of brandy dissapear while he was lost in thought. He threw the last bite into his mouth and stood up, checking his knee was capable of supporting him. He'd have to look out for signs of possible infection, but other than that, it seemed ok.
Picking up the glass, he finished the rest of the brandy in one swallow, and placed it on top of the plate.

It was only a couple of millimeters, but it slipped slightly, making a louder than normal clank of glass on pottery. He instantly held his breath; and stood perfectly still, fearing the worst...
A minute passed, then two... Nothing. Perhaps he'd gotten away with it?

As he took the few steps toward the ugly sack, He heard it. Just once.... But it was a definate floorboard squeek. He'd been rumbled....

The light switch was thrown on - 'Damn these places with no interior doors' rushed through his mind, as he stared at a small seven year old boy; blinking unbelievingly at the man infront of him.
The small boy must have realised what he was seeing, because now his eyes widened....

Knowing what was about to happen, he looked at the boy but said nothing. He raised a gloved hand to his lip, and motioned for the boy to stay silent and waited only a second for the boys response.
The boy nodded...
This was good. Then he reached for his sack, smiled at the boy and disapeared.

"Wow" the boy said quietly. "Bye Santa".

Pocahontas   Pocahontas wrote
on 1/17/2011 8:39:39 AM
I love this, brilliant build up with a nice twist. The kind of thing you remember :)

Darksabre   Darksabre wrote
on 1/2/2011 8:07:17 PM
I'm pleased you like it :) Thank you for reading it, and of course for the fantastic comments!! Happy reading, happy writing, & Keep Smilin' :D Kindest Regards - Ds

Bronkerz   Bronkerz wrote
on 1/1/2011 8:51:04 PM
wow this is really good. i like it. really honestly u did great with it

Short Story
writing Darksabre
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A short story for the season.
A Word from the Writer
Written at about 3am on 17.12.2010, While sister inlaw was giving birth - this does not reflect in the story!
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