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 |   Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills. |
| Based on this: https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/TrespassingToTalk 3rd entry for the June '22 edition of
For love of a button "If I wanted you fired... ..." Brenda Schrott stood there by my cubicle, drink in hand, twirling a pencil in the other. "We need to talk." Bag-of-snot marched. I quietly followed, slinking past those other stalls, averting my eyes, becoming invisible... to absolutely... no one. At her majesty's desk she motioned for me to sit in the leather chair, the one reserved for dignitaries and executions. I stared at her collection of shrunken heads. "What's that?" She pointed at a button sitting daintily on a lace doily. Emo? Much. But, I didn't dare say that. "A button." "Whose button?" I stared at it intently. "It won't bite you." I could feel the acid dripping from her fangs. "Pick it up." It was small, black, 4 holes, nondescript, could have been anyone's... if I didn't know better. "Lost a button, have you?" My blinking eyes gave me away. "Well, take it and sew it back on. You look goofy with your chest hair showing. It's not professional." I gulped as she turned to reach for her phone, a cue for me to slip away as fast as I could. "Thank you. May I go?" She smiled, a very thin line of a smile, and half nodded. "But next time don't sneak into the broom closet. I've watched the security video a few times..." I blushed. "...hoping to learn something new." I felt my heart skipping. "By the look on you-know-who's face I suspect you were good, very good. I've made a note in your file just in case we have a client in need of your skills." I stood frozen. "We'll keep in touch. Now go." I don't remember how I got back to my desk. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.34] (21.juni.2022) ANALYSIS The unexpected face at the door, in the alley, at the soda fountain counter... it need not be sinister but the expectation should be unnerving whether or not this is obvious. But the reader should feel the tension. In this case just a boss/serf interaction from the first person point-of-view of a fish in front of an eagle. We know who's boss and how she's perceived. "Bag-of-snot" says it all.  How did I come up with this? I channeled my own fear of being summoned by a demon boss. Her name? Doesn't matter. I have no clue why Brenda came to mind. I grew up with Schrotts (twins: Carol and Carl, nice folks) and once I mangled the name Brenda Schrott? The rest rests slithering on the page. I mention this because some folks think writing is magic... it is... but it's like kitchen magic. We who wish to eat know how to make something from nothing. Deadlines: write or perish. I played with the sinister opening to get the reader's attention. Not hard to set up! But... not all demons are fire-breathing dragons. Some are more treacherous in other ways!  In this case the boss 'trespasses' on the privacy of an underling... not unheard of in the real workplace. ~500 words. 57.999 |
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