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Member
Join Date: Aug 2007
Posts: 3
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Life of Harry
This is a short I wrote the other night. More like a free write than anything else. No re-writes or anything. I might rework it at some point. Finish it. I don't know. But I was curious as to what people think. This is the first thing I've written in awhile.
So... enjoy?
Life of Harry
Harry hated his life. He hated his job. He hated his wife. He hated those papers. He even hated Bubbles, the goldfish. It wasn’t always like this, of course. Granted, he still used to hate some things. He’d always hate Brad Hewitt. But Brad Hewitt is an asshole who deserves to be hated. Brad aside, though, Harry found joy in his life. He loved his wife. So much so that they had even discussed children from time to time in the past. He loved his job. He was even at least indifferent to Bubbles. Of course, this was all now in the distant, distant past.
2 weeks ago.
“You’re fired.”
“What?” Harry was stunned.
“I’m fucking with you.”
“Oh.” Harry was relieved.
“No, no. In all seriousness, Harold, we’ve got to let you go.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Harry was enraged.
It only took fifteen minutes for Harry to clean out his desk. It would have taken less time had it not been for the slew of “Fuck yous” he screamed over his cubicle wall at his now ex-coworkers. Most of the employees at Jansen Computing, International probably thought this would be the day they died courtesy of out-of-work Harry Simms. Mary in accounting, of course, was enthralled over the events unfolding. This would easily give her a month’s worth of office drama to dish to anyone who would listen. It’s not that Mary disliked Harry. She is just a gossip. And a bitch. Needless to say, though, no one died that day. Well, Clayton Justice did. But that was in a car accident. A completely isolated incident and, honestly, rather irrelevant to the story. The important thing is that Harry didn’t kill anyone. In fact, after his tirade, Harry was calm. Strangely at peace. He was qualified. Over qualified for that asshole Jansen. He would find something else. Something better.
“Well, if they fired you, you probably deserved it.” Elaine, Harry’s soon-to-be-estranged wife, always knew what to say to make her husband feel better.
The truth is that Harry never found out exactly why he was let go. He didn’t really give them a chance to explain, nor did he much care to know at the time. Someone said something about cutbacks but Harry reasoned it had more to do with his affair with the vice president’s wife. Cutbacks usually consist of the letting go of more than one employee, anyways.
“Fuck ‘em.”
“Harold, you know I don’t like that sort of language,” Elaine reminded.
“Who do they think they are? Eight years I gave that company. Eight years. I was the number three salesman two years ago.”
“And number sixteen last year,” Elaine reminded again.
“What do they expect? Hire six MBAs, of course I’m gonna suffer.”
“Maybe you should have an MBA,” Elaine suggested.
“Maybe you should have a boob job.”
“Excuse me…” Elaine questioned, annoyed.
“Sorry, dear. I’m just… frustrated is all. I need to get out. Be alone for awhile. Think.”
“Okay, honey,” Elaine kissed her husband on the cheek. “Be home by seven. I’m making casserole.”
Elaine didn’t always cook but when she did she cooked casserole. They tasted fine enough but who can’t make a casserole? A monkey could make a casserole. A monkey that can read. And cook. Anyways, Harry was thankful that his wife cooked when she did. Even if it was casserole. Harry always just figured she took the world’s shittiest home-ec class ever in high school.
“Howdy, neighbor.” Bob hated Brad Hewitt. We’ve been over this but it’s worth repeating.
“Hey, Brad,” Harry said cheerfully. “I’m going to slit your throat in your sleep,” Harry muttered under his breath.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing, neighbor. Just some external thinking.”
“Oh. You read Eight Ways to Positive Living, too?” Only Brad would read a book with a chapter titled External Thinking.
“No. Look I’ve gotta run, Brad.”
“Busy man, you are. Home early, though, partner. Daily grind taking its toll?” Brad chimed obnoxiously.
“Figured I’d take a half day. Get some errands done.”
“Good stuff. Hey, don’t be out too late. Wouldn’t want to have to keep your wife company if you let her get too lonely,” Brad jested, licking his botoxed lips.
That settled it. Brad was going to die. Soon. Harry had more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.
Carl’s Titty Bar was Harry’s home away from home. His sanctuary. “Damn it.” Harry checked his watch. It was only two o’clock. Word of advice: If you ever decide to go to a strip club, go at night. They let the women who should not dance naked in front of others dance at two o’clock. Today, though, Harry didn’t care. He just wanted to see exposed breasts. Even if they were April’s. April is plump, not overweight, and borderline unlookatable from neck up. But at least she had a boob job. “Elaine won’t get a boob job” Harry thought as he slipped a Lincoln in April’s two-size-too-small thong. He didn’t realize the unexpected four dollar denomination difference until he withdrew his hand.
“Fuck.” That was supposed to be a Washington.
Harry considered explaining the four dollar gaff to April and asking for his money back on the grounds that someone who looked like April didn’t deserve a Roosevelt, let alone a five dollar bill, but she was off-stage before he had a chance.
“And next up to the stage, for your viewing pleasure, we have the lovely Diamond,” the emcee announced over the house speakers.
This is the point that Harry left Carl’s Titty Bar. Diamond is a saddening thing to look at dance naked. Diamond is overweight, not plump, and borderline unlookatable from feet up. Her nipples pointed opposite directions, as if they were mad at each other, but at least she had a boob job. “Elaine won’t get a boob job,” Harry thought as he walked out of the bar.
Last edited by CoolUserName : 08-22-2007 at 01:26 AM.
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