Clean Up

My latest in the always-fun Flash! Friday weekly flash fiction contest. New rules this time-around: We had to include the character of a “janitor” and respond to the above photo. We also get up to 210 words to do that now.

“Sir, do you really want to do that? Can’t we just let the hog roll around with him?” Avery, a small-lipped man said, he had a receding hairline and was not-so-affectionately known around the office as the “Man of Cubicles.”

“Davis, look at my name-tag.” the tall man said, his alligator shoes reflected his bald head.


“Look at it, what does it say?”

“Kenneth,” Avery said.

“Below that.”

“Manager. Manager, sir.”

“Then do it. Let the janitor at him,” Kenneth said.

The “him” was Jeremy. A new hire, but he wasn’t catching on. Numbers confused him like finding pudding in your sock would. Kenneth had no time for such incompetence inside his coliseum.

That’s how the office was treated: under war-like terms. His people were his “little warriors.” If you became deadweight, usually you rolled around with the hog and were kicked out. Shamed and embarrassed, but still alive.

Not today. Kenneth desired the janitor. His warriors were getting soft-skinned, even lazy; it was time to shake things up. He hadn’t used the janitor since ‘93 on a poor intern named Louie.

The “janitor” was a 420-pound brute of a lion with a roar that caused the “Man of Cubicles” to literally shit himself.

Jeremy was deadweight today indeed.

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