“A Bad Time For Blasphemy” – a piece of micro fiction

Wrote a little something called “A Bad Time For Blasphemy” for a contest at Medium.com. Check it out here. Or read the text below. Enjoy!

Almost nothing was under my control.

After I insulted the Boss, I began to choke. The edges of my vision darkened as my throat closed up. My life was a top nearing the end of its spin. The only things I could control were my hands so I tugged at my collar as if that would suddenly allow my throat to unclench. It didn’t.

Actually, wait. Let me back up a bit.

I’m in the, well, call it the construction business, and my company had been working on this enormous, one-of-a-kind building. So much went into this thing — I’m talking billions of dollars, countless man-hours, a lifetime worth of stress, and after all the late nights, all the arguments, all the hand wringing, this monster came together beautifully, it was complete. We could finally kick back and relax, it was Miller time! Then, out of left field, our competitors up and steal our blueprints.

This unnerved us. Of course it did. We bust our asses for years (years!), and this group of jerkoffs comes along and swipes our designs. Hell, we heard they even had moles inside our organization to steal that stuff. It was industrial espionage of the highest order. Disgusting. The Boss was so pissed he took it upon himself to retrieve the plans. But even he, in his infinite wisdom, couldn’t. When this was revealed at our next board meeting, I kinda sorta broke his balls about it. Maybe not the best idea, I admit.

During the meeting, a co-worker and I were discussing the implications of the theft when it hits me: the project is completed. I say, Who cares who has the plans? We have the final product — we’re gold, baby! Well, my co-worker is having none of that; he fights me tooth and nail, saying what if our competitors do this, what if they do that. I respond, reiterating my point in hopes that my halfwit co-worker gets it, and the Boss picks this very moment to spout off about his religion. His religion! Of all the times to bring up his ridiculous beliefs, it has to be now? At this point my blood is boiling — I’ve had it up to here with the company, my co-worker, and especially the Boss. Without thinking, I turn to the Boss and say, If your religion is so great, where are the plans? Why didn’t your magical friend help you recover them? The Boss, clad in that stupid black suit (he always wore the same thing — such a freak), raises his hand and that’s when I feel my throat close.

The Boss says, “I find your lack of faith disturbing.”

Then the Boss’s boss says, “Enough of this. Vader, release him!”

The Boss says, “As you wish” and turns away from me, at which point my throat opens, and I hit the table, gulping air. When it came to his religion, the Boss could be such a dick.

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