by Jesse R Traynham - Author

Likes: 4
Words: 200

I memorized the waiting room safety poster.

"Send in the next victim, Mrs. Plumb."

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Flincher Snodgrass will see you now."

I sprang from my chair and burst through the door.

"Smorgasbord?"

"Pirouette Smorgasbord."

"Desired position?"

"Defenestration specialist."

"Qualifications?"

"I've been throwing things out windows all my life. I'm good. Favorite method is vehicular defenestration."

"Solid choice. That position is already filled."

"By who?"

"By me."

"What method do you prefer in a high-rise such as this one?"

"We're on the forty-seventh floor, so height is not a problem."

"Window open or closed?"

"Closed is more enjoyable for the defenestrator, but it creates a mess." Mr. Snodgrass scurried to the window. I joined. "The better choice is to open the window during setup."

I glanced through the window. "Sure is a long way down."

Mr. Snodgrass looked out, too. "Sure is."

He didn't see it coming. I threw Mr. Snodgrass out the window. Glass everywhere.

"Position just opened up," I said as he accelerated to his fate.

My title secured, I sauntered over to the desk, sat down, and pushed the intercom button on the phone. "Send in the next victim, Mrs. Plumb."

"Yes, Mr. Smorgasbord."

by Mary Zuelke Author

Likes: 4
Words: 200

Jasmin stared through the two-way mirror, searching.

“I don’t see him.”

“He’s there, don’t worry.”

“How can I talk when—”

“You can do this. I have faith in you.”

She blew a breath out, pushed open the security door, and stepped into the room—heart pounding.

“Let’s get down to it.” She pulled out the chair, dropped the folder onto the table, and fixed her gaze straight ahead.

“I’ve worked for Zane Security for the past four years. We did two tours in the Kuiper belt. I’m the payload specialist—transporting long distance solar arrays onto asteroid 203.ab23. I know I’m ready for this opportunity, sir.”

Nothing.

She swallowed. “I’m the man for the job. sir.”

The air shifted, wobbled, and then suddenly, where no one had been. General Koz sat as if he had always been there. She froze, jaw dropping.

“Officer Starge,” he said, “welcome aboard.”

“T-thank you, sir.”

The pressure rippled again, and he vanished.

“Congratulations, Officer Starge,” Hill laughed.

“W-why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you? And ruin all the fun? We all go through it. Point is, you made it.”

“B-but General Koz… he’s a… he’s a bug.”

“Best damn General in the fleet!”

by Neviena Dēls

Likes: 3
Words: 200

Mark Ellis arrived early for the interview and was told to wait in a room that smelled faintly of disinfectant and old paper, where a speaker in the ceiling occasionally repeated instructions about remaining calm and having identification ready.

Ms Carter called his name without looking up from the file. ‘Mr Ellis before we begin do you understand this is a standard assessment?’ Mark hesitated and said that he thought it was a job interview and she replied that it was only that if he passed it correctly which made him ask what counted as correct

She tapped the pen against the form and said ‘Answering is less important than consistency’ Mark asked who decided consistency and she said ‘The office does though it prefers not to describe itself that way’ He tried to laugh but the sound felt inappropriate in the room and she noted it without comment while sliding another page toward him and asking him to describe where he sees himself in five years

Mark said he could not see that far ahead and she replied that uncertainty was acceptable provided it was documented clearly before the interview ended and filed with his application record system protocol

by Eolas Pellor

Likes: 3
Words: 200

“Johnny Pal is a perfectly respectable businessman,” said the man in the silk suit, sitting down across from me. He reached across my desk, took my lighter and pack of cigarettes, and lit one. “I got no idea why people make up these stories about him.” Both the pack and the lighter disappeared into his pocket. I didn’t have the slightest doubt that questioning it might prove harmful to my health.

“I swear, Johnny is nuthin’ more than the President of the Waterfront Honest Businessman’s Benevolent Association,” the man sitting opposite me said. He took a drag from the purloined cigarette, while his companion – a powerfully built, unsmiling, slab of beef – ground his fist slowly into the palm of his other hand.

“You swear on your mother’s grave?” I asked, rather recklessly.

“What?” said the man, his tone suddenly sharp and suspicious. Then, recognizing my intent, he relaxed and gave me a chilling smile. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s right. On me mudder’s grave.” He gave a wheezing laugh, which sounded as if it was seldom used.

“You reporters are funny guys.” The look he gave me left the impression that ‘funny’ was synonymous with ‘skating on thin ice,’ in his vocabulary