Submission for the Mad Cow Short Fiction Contest

As a "Fictioneer" member of the PAL Network's Fiction Workshop, I am pleased to have written a piece for the "Mad Cow" contest by @carolkean.

My piece is a little darker than some other submissions. The idea came to me while watching YouTube videos of people exposing scammers, so I just kind of ran with it. I hope you enjoy!

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“I understand. It will be handled.”

The phone was placed gently back on into its cradle with a light click. Her slender finger extended to press a red plastic button beside the phone.

“Send in Mister Mills, please.”

She looked down at her pristinely manicured fingernails, scrutinizing the outcome of the young Asian girl who had performed the work. Not the worst job, but she certainly would not be leaving a tip of any sort next time.

A light rap at the door was followed by the clicking of the turned handle, and the door slowly opened.

“You- you called for me, ma’am?” the voice from the balding head that peered around the door stuttered.

“Yes, Mister Mills. Come in,” she replied, her gaze locked onto her cuticles. Mills crept through the doorway, his arms wrapped tightly around a stack of loose papers and folders. The door closed silently behind him, and her eyes shifted to him.

The middle-aged man wore a cheap tan suit. His balding head was sparsely covered by runaway strands of hair from his left temple. Her lips tightened, revolted at the sight of such a lesser person.

“Mister Mills, I understand that you have failed to secure this week’s quota. Is there any reason for this… negligence of duty?”

Mills visibly stiffened. His forehead began to glisten. After a second of consideration, his features shifted, brow furrowing, cheeks flushing.

“These quotas are impossible! Nobody wants to pay extra money for computer services that they can easily perform themselves!" Mills fumed as his tirade continued. "Everybody knows what Google is! Everybody knows how to navigate YouTube!” He finally trailed off as loose pages tumbled from his arms, slapping the floor gently as they landed around him.

Mills took a second to attempt to compose himself, swallowing hard at the realization that his efforts were for naught.

She leaned forward in her seat and steepled her index fingers against her chin. The gloss coat on Mills’ scalp started to run down his temples and cheeks.

“Um—What I mean to say, ma’am...” he started. He was interrupted by the sharp click of her tongue.

“No, no, Mister Mills. I understand exactly what you mean. We certainly do live in a tech-savvy age, where answers are available at the stroke of a key. I have certainly heard this argument before, and I can understand your frustrations that people don’t feel the need to pay for our wonderful services. However…”

She slammed her hands loudly onto the desk with force, and thrust herself to standing position. The combination of thundering sound and abrupt action was enough to make Mills leap in place, scattering even more pages from his arms to the freshly waxed linoleum.

“…it is your god damned job to make them pay for it!”

Mills shuddered at her words. He began to tremble involuntary, unable to respond. She took in the sight of this pathetic little man; a sad, portly waste of her time. She took a sharp breath in and stood up straight.

“Perhaps I was mistaken about you, Mister Mills. I thought you would make a good addition to our company, but I can see now that I was mistaken.” She leaned forward to add emphasis. “Your services will no longer be required, Mister Mills.”

Mills could feel his jaw slide open. His vision began to blur as the tears started to gloss over his widened eyes. His grip on the papers tightened as he felt the rage building within.

“This—this is bullshit! ” Mills shouted, throwing the stack of sheets to the floor. He thrust an extended finger toward her. “You can’t do this! This is wrongful dismissal! You will be hearing from my attorney!”

A sly grin crossed her features as she settled back into her seat. She pulled open the left drawer of her desk, her gaze locked onto Mills.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” came her rebuttal as the tiny pistol was exposed. Mills had only enough time to let out a swift gasp before the shot rang out. He felt the burning in his chest, knocking the wind from him and throwing him backward into the wall.

He struggled to regain his breath, but to no avail. He could feel the warm, sticky fluid pouring from the gaping wound as he slid down the wall to a final sitting position on the floor.

She put the gun back into the drawer, and reached for the phone. With a quick toss of her hair, she put the phone to her ear.

“Send in the dismissal team. And bring in the next candidate. We had to let Mister Mills go.”

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I hope you enjoyed my little quickie tale!
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