My Plane Crash Life

 ‘God give me strength, this is harder than I thought’, sighed Gary as he folded another paper airplane and set it aside with the hundreds of others.

He flinched.

‘Bloody paper cuts. If there’s one there’s a hundred. Stings like a bitch.’

A forced cough behind made his eyes roll. ‘I know that cough’, he thought. ‘I hate that motherfu…’

‘Gary darling?’

‘Yes Stella.’ He turned to look at her.

Power suit. Three inch heels. Red lipstick, incredible body and a face only a mother could love. Though he doubted even she did.

‘Was that a naughty word I just heard?’

She snorted a laugh.

‘Ooh did you hear that? I’m a poet…’

‘ – and you don’t know it…. Yeah I heard. Ha ha, how wonderfully funny you are. You make Jim Carrey look positively amateur.’

Confidence wasn’t his strong suit but sarcasm seemed to flow from his mouth like faeces from a baby’s diaper.

‘You know it’s company policy.’

Gary stood up, smiled that kind of smile that covered up the murder scene playing out in his imagination.

‘I sure do. What’s it gonna be this time? Barbed wire strangulation? Hari-Kari? Lynch mob?’

‘Don’t be so silly, sweetie. Just the usual virtual rap on the knuckles. Gotta keep you on your toes, you’re our best employee.’

He looked around the empty warehouse.

‘I’m your only employee.’

‘Well, you’re renowned for your paper-folding skills.’

‘What a legacy, eh?’ he replied. ‘And on my gravestone shall be written, ‘Swift of fingers but on the other hand…’

He managed a wry smile as a paper airplane was hit from the breeze of the open door and flew… straight into the floor.

‘… crap at his job.’