On the Rocks

In a busy city, two business men shoot the s**t and have a couple of drinks.

Whilst I poured our drinks, the boss quietly admired my apartment. My window was down and a faint breeze tickled my mullet without rhythm. The stars outside burned bright and pure, these weren’t stars though, they were street-lamps and head-lights, which had made silent their disposal of the real stars. Horns rippled softly in the distance where breaks came to a squeaking halt, and a cursing ensemble of fat men in vests and slim men in suits all spat words behind windows over the dominance of the road, and there were we, enjoying their rage from a few blocks distance, in my cosy orange abode.
          ‘I really like this piece of art.’
          ‘Thank you! It was my grandmothers.’ On a china tray of finest silver, I brought the boss his drink. Mojito with smashed fresh strawberries swimming in its base.
          ‘Thanks.’ He sipped.
          ‘Fun little fact about that picture. My grandmother’s house burnt to the ground, and among the rubble, half of this survived. An old friend managed to paint the second half, all from memory.’
          The boss faced me. ‘Let’s get down to business.’
          His hair was long and soft, it brushed gently his collar and shone gold in the lamp-light. I felt the condensation on the walls of my mojito and soon my finger was wet and uncomfortable, I needed it dry for this moment. Couch pillows next to me. It was too late. By the time my finger met the satin it had pruned beyond salvation.
          ‘You’re running with the bulls now. Earning and burning. Cigar?’
          No thank you. ‘I’d love one.’
          He lit the cigar. ‘You want that executive position, don’t you?’
          ‘It would be my dream.’
          ‘Well good news. It’s yours!’
          ‘Thank you so much!’ I inhaled the cigar and yelped.
          ‘What?’
          ‘I burnt my nose with the inhale.’
          ‘I see.’ He finished his mojito. ‘Get me one more?’
          I ran to the kitchen and just like dad to me, I gave the air a good punch. Success.
          ‘Wait, could you make it a whisky? On the rocks?’
          ‘Coming right up!’ I danced about the kitchen and outside my window a prostitute was dragged into a car. I saluted the barely legal, lipstick beast as she disappeared down the street. It will be a good night for her, I’m sure of it. That makes two of us, prostitute. I gave him two shots of some really good stuff from a distillery near the train station. Turned around, opened my freezer and there were no rocks. I fell to my knees, pulling back my sleeves and scratching my bare wrists until they bled. I shouted every racial slur imaginable into my oven gloves, I’m sorry, normal swear words would not do; they are so common now, there is no antisocial satisfaction found in their use. He needed his rocks as much as I needed this job. I could get the ice cube tray out and freeze some more, but who knows, but the great minds of our time, how long it takes for a tray of water to freeze?

There was a chicken from last Christmas, rotting cold and quiet in the corner of my bottom shelf. The bird had leaked with age. After picking it out with my trusty dagger from world war two, one stained with the blood of a Japanese innocent, I set the bird over a large bowl and began throwing jabs at it. Left, right, uppercut. So you want to play dirty, chicken? I took a knife and began lunging with perfect form, soon a few chips of ice sparked from its side and slid loudly into the bowl.
          ‘Here you are sir! Whisky con hielo.’
          The boss had a big sip and leaned back into the couch. ‘F**k. I’ve needed this. All the paper work. Sue from human resources always trying to find new and inventive ways to fist me.’ He bit his bottom lip and fisted an air anus.
          ‘Damn her.’ I tasted my cigar again and smirked behind the dense brown. He was feeling that mojito. He couldn’t even tell what his ice was. You’ve done good tonight. In my mind I was patting myself of the back and admiring my own fragrance. That cologne really compliments you. It’s so subtle. Why thank you, me.
          The boss coughed and turned to me. ‘Do you smell latex?’ He turned white and wet. His eyes leaned back and with his jaw low and loose he fell limp into my cushions.
          ‘Sir?’ This was not good. I’d never been one for sports, except for archery, billiards and swimming, all of which don’t require legs, and I was deeply passionate about this executive position, which meant that currently, my legs were nothing in comparison to this job. I nearly told him that. ‘Sir, wake up. I don’t want my legs.’

I ran to my phone. ‘Hello? My friend has passed out. I need an ambulance here as fast as possible.’ My boss, weak and pale against my own sofa. His skin grew more and more clammy by the second. Was it the poultry water? The alcohol? What a light weight. He did seem a little drunk. Just handing out the promotion like that. I need to make sure he remembers what happened. This man here, this weak, poor little man needs to remember. But what if he won’t? My promotion might well just be the babbling of a drunkard. I need this job and I can’t let this stop me. I’m sorry boss, whatever it is that kills you, you need more of it.

          I saddled up on my boss’s lap and poured the entire bottle of whisky down his throat; it took some tough love but eventually he did swallow. I then microwaved that chicken and fed him the watery result. It’s only soup. Soon he stopped swallowing all together and my work was done. To honour his death, I would tell the others that with his dying word, he guaranteed me the executive position.
          The medics came as fast as possible and filled my apartment. All of their big, loud coats, yellow and green. Each time they walked they made that sound. The sound that only ever comes from coats like that, it’s a ruffle, but not the ruffle of a soft collision. They carted him off and one of the medics stayed behind.
          ‘Sir, as we carried him into the elevator, your friend puked up about two litres of whisky flavoured chicken string. What were you doing?
          ‘You mean to tell me he’s not dead?’
          ‘Not if we can help it. He’s in bad condition.

I cried into my pillow that night with the moon upon my naked thigh. The traffic still rippled and whined in the distance. A car pulled over near my apartment building and a man with a white bag got out, no doubt delivering some food. I lent on my window ledge and watched. He was an Asian American climbing back into his silver Sudan. I watched him leave and nearly drifted back to bed before I saw a limousine come dragging down the road. Its doors opened and out stepped a young woman with a white, fur robe. Underneath that she wore something short and black with laces that threaded and filed down to her smooth, thick thighs. A woman of importance, surely. Maybe a senator or an actress! On my road? This is crazy.

A hand crept from the limo and pinched her bottom. She swatted his fingers away playfully and threw back her head in hearty laughter and there! Gummy nothingness where her two front teeth had been knocked out. The prostitute! She giggled. They gave her more money and she danced to her home with a smile worth ten million promotions. I smirked, looked up at the stars that weren’t there and chuckled fondly under the moon. There’s hope for me yet.

Reviews

[Montgomery Snow]

First word was whilst and I cringed. This may be personal but it's true so I thought I'd let you know.

"the stars outside....weren't stars....were lights...which made disposal of the real stars..." I'd change this sentence around I found it awkward and try hard. Describe what the lights are, not what they aren't.

*Brakes, not breaks.

"It brushed gently his collar." It brushed gently against his collar? It brushed his collar gently? Reads weird.

No thank you. "I'd love one." I dig this, needs to kiss a*s for the position.

Character seems very immature after he gets the job. Air punch is cute. Not good or bad just my interpretation. Racial slurs are strange, but interesting. Liked the social commentary about the curse words being socially acceptable. Comma use feels off when read out loud during this paragraph.

Okay air anus was funny, thank you, me, was funny, but I didn't understand the legs/sports thing at all.

It didn't make sense that he would kill his boss if he needed the promotion. What did he think would happen if he poured all the alcohol and then immediately called an ambulance? The fact that his boss didn't die made sense, since he called paramedics immediately.

The prostitute seemed a little forced at the end. Story has potential, I think you could bring the prostitute into it more, maybe have a scene with her interacting and trying to sell herself like the main character is trying to sell himself to his boss. I don't know, interesting story but very strange.