The NecronomICON #2 
Justin managed to keep his cool as he cleared away the things on his desk. He placed them into an old computer monitor box one at a time, pretending to be careful when all he wanted to do was smash every bit of it into the walls, windows, and computer monitor. On his desk, the small pink memo he’d found stuck dead-center in the window of his office door that morning stood out in stark contrast to the bare wooden surface of his desk.
Every now and then one of the secretaries passed by his window and risked a quick glance in. He kept his eyes carefully on the pointless, mind-numbing fucking job at hand and did NOT look up. At one time he’d wanted to go out with a bang, but he didn’t think murder was the best plan. Besides, for the most part he liked the secretaries. None of them was responsible – he was just the entertainment of the week.
He put the last of his books into the crate and started on the photographs lining the top of the shelf. He was almost done removing the things that belonged to him. Next he planned to remove anything and everything not nailed down. He’d saved his company monogrammed golf towel to blanket the top of the pile. He almost hoped some security guard was stupid enough to try and search the box.
Finally it was done. The last thing remaining was to log off his computer terminal. A 1GB flash drive with the company logo emblazoned across it blinked brilliant blue in one of the USB ports. He smiled down at it. Every bit of work he’d done for the past ten years was saved in neat folders on that stupid bit of plastic and silicon. They had copies, of course. They weren’t stupid. They would have canceled his network account, but he had one final document to digitally sign before they were free of him, so the monitor blinked at him, and he stared back.
Ten years.
Suddenly the door opened, and he turned, startled.
The doorway was full of Brandon. From the two-wide scuffed loafers, up through the used car salesman gone mad suit and tie, to the thick glasses dropped an inch too far down his pudgy nose and that god damned cheesy smile. Brandon. The spawn of Lucifer himself. Branch Manager. Leaver of tiny pink notes he was too chicken-shit to articulate.
“How you doin’, Justin,” the big man asked.
He actually held out a hand to be shaken.
Justin stared, feeling the pulse in his neck slow and grow heavy. He knew his face was reddening, and he fought to keep from clenching his fists. God damn it. He had been so close.
“Need you to sign that form,” the fat man said. That cheesy, cat-ate-the-canary grin never faded.
“Got to keep things on the up-and-up,” he added.
“Get out,” Justin grated. He didn’t open his mouth, but spat the words through clenched teeth. He knew if he opened his mouth he’d start screaming and he wouldn’t be able to stop. “Get the fuck out.”
Brandon backed away, but he was still smiling.
“Time’s a wasting,” he said, just before he turned away. And he winked. That was what did it. All of the rest of it Justin could have handled, but that was too much.
He turned and dropped into the chair in front of his computer. The cursor blinked at him. At the bottom of the screen, he saw the minimized document waiting for his signature. His resignation. His confession for crimes he never committed so someone else could have his office, and his plastic fucking flash drive with the company logo. He ignored the document and clicked on the icon that accessed the flash drive and its files. He drilled down quickly through the folders, ignoring spread sheets and PowerPoint presentations, until he reached a folder marked IQ. He opened that folder, and inside was a single file. He double clicked the file, then closed the windows as rapidly as he’d opened them.
Finally, he opened the resignation letter, typed in the code for his stored digital signature, and hit send. With a quick motion he stood, yanked the flash drive from the computer and dropped it to the floor. He turned and saw that Brandon was still watching. With a grin of his own, so tight it might have been carved from ice, he brought the heel of his shoe down hard, splintering the small drive into a thousand shards.
Without a word he picked up the crate with his belongings and strode out the door, not looking back.
Brandon watched him go. He didn’t care about a twenty dollar flash drive. All he cared about was seeing the door slam shut behind Justin’s receding back. It took him a moment to register the sounds behind him. Doors opened. Others slammed. People cursed, screamed, and ran into the halls.
Brandon turned to look, the grin finally wavering on his face.
He grabbed the first secretary who came near by her arm.
“What is it?” he asked. “What happened.”
She pointed at her desk – at the computer monitor. He frowned and let her go, stepping around to where he could see.
What he saw dropped his jaw. It was an image of his own face, cheesy grin and all. He winked in a bad-animation jitter and his lips moved. Above his head in a small thought balloon, it read.
“You can’t fire me, fatass…I quit”
He thought it was signed Justin, but he couldn’t be sure…the screen went blank. All the screens went blank. Then the lights went out.
On street outside, Justin hailed a cab. Just before it pulled away from the curb, Brandon crashed through the doors, fat legs churning as he puffed toward the curb. Justin rolled down his window as he rolled past and gave the man the biggest, cheesiest grin he could muster. Maybe unemployment wouldn’t be so bad.
Written by David Wilson - Visit WebsiteFollow me on Twitter
