Microstory 412: Floor 31 (Part 1)

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Mine is the newest department in the entire company, which is funny, because it’s our job to create even newer departments. Since its inception, Analion has been focused on creating a holistic internal experience. The founders didn’t want to outsource labor, contract consultants, or cooperate with other companies. It wanted to be able to do everything within its purview independently, and that might have worked in the olden times, but this is the 21st century. If you’re not growing, you’re not nothing. The biggest organizations, the ones leading the world markets, are able to do so because of the labor, technology, and patents they acquire through complex negotiations with others. To be honest, and I don’t like to brag, but I’m a beast. I can sell salt to a slug, porn to a monk, veal to a cow, or an abacus now. When we stand up from the table, my side’s gotten everything it wanted, and more, while the other is left feeling good about being screwed over. The company’s problems right now have nothing to do with unsafe products, or a lack of money, or even management. It all comes down to expertise. Quite frankly, Analion just didn’t have the technology to pursue these recent projects. I’m not the least bit surprised that their plans backfired before they knew what hit ‘em. If they had hired me before all this, they wouldn’t have even known there might have been a problem, because I would have shored up our organizational structure. There are a lot of things I could have fixed if I had been around sooner. I guess I’m just going to have to do it now. Its my family’s curse to fix everybody else’s mistakes. Sorry to cut this short, but I better get back to work. Saving the day is a fulltime job.

Microstory 17: Slug

As I let the salt fall, it writhed and curled. Back and forth. Up and down. Sweeping through the granules that landed dry on the deck. In its final moments of torturous pain, it couldn't tell the difference between where there was salt and where there wasn't. It knew only that something was scratching and tearing at its skin. An unstoppable fire sucking the moisture from its body. I felt an unavoidable urge to explain myself. "I'm not a sadist." I stood up straight, looking for any more, camouflaged on top of the brown planks. "I just can't have you near my dog's food." But as I said the words, I wondered, were they true? My dog ambled onto the deck and sniffed at the slugs, placing her nose firmly against their lifeless bodies. She opened her mouth, contemplating whether she wanted to try one for breakfast. She snapped at it a couple times. "No!" I said. She looked up at me as if to say, who do you think you are? Then she snapped at one again. "NO!" I said with more fervor. She looked up again, what is this? I don’t even... "Don’t eat that," I said. "It might have ingested pesticides, or something." If she had shoulders, she would have shrugged them. Whatever. She walked over to the corner of the deck and dramatically plopped down on her side. Wake me up when there’s legal food.