(idea) by chevette Tue Apr 24 2001 at 22:41:11

"Fired Again"

I could see straight through him, just like his shirt, his personality was transparent.He would be on the phone and drift his eyes around the room, casually stopping on me,thinking I didn’t notice it. I could feel those cold, beady eyes lock on my bowed head and I knew. I knew exactly what he wanted.

"Vodka-water on the rocks with a twist of lime,” he flashed me a shit-eating grin and held out a credit chip. I smiled wryly and took the chip, placing a short glass in his hand.
“Thanks, babe,” he said as he clutched my hand along with the credit chip.

Within seconds his ass was sprawled across an array of onlookers and bar tables. People backing away amazed at the scene played out in front of them.

I stared blankly, wide-eyed, heaving with adrenaline and covered with the jerks guts and matter.

“Dammit, June! You make such a fuckin’ mess when you do that!” came the voice of my burly boss.

Hi, let me let you know who I am. I’m June, model 5.002. I am human-metal hybrid created in the year 2187, set to kill anything that touches me without asking permission first. I tend bars, well, I did until about two minutes ago. This is the seventh job in three months for me, damn human males always trying to get a piece of ass in the wrong places and the wrong “people”. Anyways…back to me getting my ass grilled.

“Sir, I’m sorry…h, he, he touched me,” I stammer, looking for forgiveness in his eyes.

“I told you, one last time and you are outta here!” fuming with anger and drugs, blood-shot eyes from daily usage. “So, get your shit and get the fuck outta here!” he shouts at me, pointing with one stubby finger toward the door. I follow his orders with my head down, regretting ever attempting to get along with humans.

Minutes later I am on the street, heading homeward with my leather jacket and the few tips that I managed to pocket. Telling myself the whole way back to my loft that I can do better. Max won’t be that upset when I come home, fired, yet again.

Each step closer to the house I grow wary of just how understanding Max will actually be. Didn’t he say something about “one more time” also? No, not Max, Max
understands.

A glass shattersbreaks in an alley rather close to home and screams and yells ensue. I cringe as I hear Max’s voice bellowing out above the crashes and the shrieks.

“Ya damn bitch! I pay you all that fuckin’ money and you can’t even cook anything decent!”

Poor woman, I wonder if she’s foreign.

I find my answer within the next minute as a short Hispanic woman comes bolting around the corner with a look of utter terror in her eyes as a dish comes flying out after her.

I stop and watch her whiz past me, shake my head and consider not going back home. That is, until Max comes lumbering out into the street with his good ole double barrel shotgun.

“Heya darlin’,” he smiles as he rigs up a bullet and takes aim at the fleeing woman.

“Heya, Max. Rough day?”

“Yeah, but it’s about to get better,” he fires and almost hits the poor girl. He laughs as she yelps and he yells out “Get the fuck outta the country you no-good slitch!”

“Max, you aren’t being a little harsh, are you?” I ask, shuffling my feet over broken bottles, empty shells and cigarette butts.

“Naw, I wasn’t gonna hit her. She only pissed me off for a day, not a complete waste of money, she’s just not goin’ anywhere,” he spits out a large wad of tobacco and smiles; missing about three teeth.

“How was your day, angel?”

Knots tie in my stomach and I wish I had just stepped in the way of the bullet. Would’ve gotten it over with a hell of a lot quicker. I look down at my feet, shuffle some more.

“You’re home awful early, what the hell happened?”

“Well, this jerk-ass decided he wanted something more than a drink today, and…well…ya know…”

I can actually hear his face twitching this time.

“June, you’ve got five seconds to get the fuck outta my face before I take a shot and don’t miss. One, two…”

I look up in disbelief at Max’s reddened face.

“Three.”

Okay, he isn’t joking this time. Turn, run, no…run like fucking lightning.

“Four.”

I hear him cock the gun again and chuckle. Far behind me I hear another gun getting ready to shoot.

Max’s baffled voice “What the…?” a shot goes off and I don’t even think of turning around, I can’t even tell which gun that was or who they were shooting at.

Twenty minutes later, covered in grime from the oncoming rain and dust storm and about twenty miles from home (damn, I forgot how fast I run), I arrive at Cratch’s place.

Fuck! Cratch is out, guess I’ll have to sleep outside. What about the storm? My stomach catches up with me and the knots double. I collapse into the gutter and attempt to collect my head. What a great day! Blow up some punk for touching me, lose another damn job, witness a shooting spree, get shot at myself and end up shaking in the gutter outside waiting for an upcoming rain storm and the fucking Banshee’s. I’d better move to a safer shelter.

Last vision of the day: a dumpster closing over me. Trash-coffin, how fitting.

I like it! 1 C!

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