The Baker, The Butcher and The Brewer, Part Three – The Butcher 2
Surely one morning after an important meeting she came in late handing him a report that was due the week before. Not only this but the paper was stained with coffee and oil stains, disgusting. He put his sociopathic face on and threw it in the garbage making a clear and load statement that decisions based on this information had already been made. The entire office went numb and flustered as he briskly invited her in his office leaving the door wide open. He pulled a stick of chewing gum out of his pocket and offered it to her not out of kindness but to suggest that she had bad breath, which was not the case. She took it with reluctance assuming that she did indeed had bad breath for sometimes you can’t really tell for yourself.
With great coldness he went on. ‘You have been a burden for this office.’ He omitted her name so she can feel more like nameless sheep. ‘You have invested as much time in this report as if you are making a thousand pages manual how to jerk off!’ He liked the sound of that. This was as vulgar as he would get verbally. He really wanted to make her cry. He didn’t look at her, he was facing the window looking at the pedestrians on the street wondering what they had on their minds.
The first thing he registered in the room was her gentle sobbing. She was trying to collect herself but the emotions with which he had enslaved her were just a beauty. Multiple fluids were coming out of her face blending into one bitter-salty liquid she could taste when it touched her lips before it vanished on his carpet. Her pretty face was not so pretty any more. Red under his offence, undistinguishable fractions of words lost their tails in the whirlwind of maddening sadness. He felt like he was painting a masterpiece. Curious parallel for he later ended up ruling a temple of masterpieces. He had always believed art is just the combination of creativity and perfection in any given field. He was painting the masterpiece of firing without a reason only for the purpose of egocentric drive to succeed.
He was lost in this beautiful (to him) moment.
When he turned around to face the monstrosity he had created he had his best compassionate face on and reached for a handkerchief for a pinch of balance. Gentle touch on the arm and a kind word watered the seed of hope opening the gates of the castle for his final blow.
As he withdrew his hand from her shoulder a tear dropped on his thumb, which they both noticed. Like any true artist he decided to take a leap of fate and licked the tear, which was good but tasteless. His victim’s eyes widened in astonishment for she didn’t know what to make if it. He put his money on nobody believing her if she dared to spill that abstract moment. For him the enjoyment of watching her confusion was certainly priceless.
What a trip!
That was the peak of her hope, his attack had gathered momentum and he only had to add the last brush stroke. As he uttered the words that described her separation from this institution and the damage that she had done to this working environment all her vitals skipped a beat. She turned pale and he could almost hear the static noise inside her head.
He gently and hospitably urged her to calmly go home explaining that someone would pack her things for her to collect at a different time. As she made for the front door and he was framed at the window of his office the entire floor was as silent as a buried stone. In his head on the other hand was playing rock ‘n roll. He was stomping the ground over the stone with great pleasure. The only thing left to do was stand firm to face the minor windstorm heading his way from the upper floors.
Soon enough the news of his crusade had reached even the furthest corners of the corporate empire. Lawyers were streaming in to make sure he didn’t cost the company a wave of lawsuits. Eventually the boss made her way down. She was a good fat lady. He acted like he was her father and thought her best.
‘Don’t act like you are my father!’ She told him briskly. ‘I just can’t believe that beautiful girl to have done anything wrong.’ She went on naively.
‘Sometimes there is a monster hiding inside the most beautiful flower.’ He explained.
She stared out of the window with her back to him. He was sure she was not even thinking she just came down to manifest her power and concern to the floor. She was reminded of her youth when her killer instinct was sharp and vivid. Now it was gone and she didn’t really need it any more for her name on the building was a shield enough from the harshness of a battle. She must have enjoyed watching, he presumed. The blinds were down and maybe she was waiting for the appropriate time to pass before she headed back for the clouds full of cigarette smoke and vodka.
‘I don’t enjoy the battlefield any more. That’s why we have people like you!’ She murmured and walked out.
more by PETER ODEON
photograph from unsplash.com