R.I.P. Best Intentions

R.I.P. Best Intentions

         This was getting old. Every night, I stumbled through that same yawning doorway as I reported to work at this crumbling warehouse. Since I was the skeleton crew, a lone security guard, no one laughed at my expense.

         Slowing my breathing, I set out for my walk-about. I was familiar with most of this dark cavernous space's noise. Groaning timbers, creaking tin siding, slapping cables, and even scurrying footsteps surrounded me. This was intended to be a quiet spot for my writer's mind to appreciate; what better place to absorb atmosphere.

         If I was honest with myself, the feeble beam of the flashlight revealing glowing red eyes and bone-white fangs, still spooked me. I had to endure a graveyard shift at a novelties store house. Just as I crept past a too life-like figure, I heard a moan. This was something unexpected, and a quick glance back at the shadowed witch reassured me. With growing dread, I tracked the increased moaning; it sounded human. Had I stumbled again, but this time in the metaphorical sense?

          My trembling spear of light poked a prone man in coveralls. The stab jolted him upright and he shaded his eyes. I couldn't help but notice a very large, purple goose-egg prominent below a shining, bald head.

          I recognized him as one of the forklift drivers.My flip-flopping heart began to calm. Wow, I marvelled. I let my imagination loose. I only half-listened as he mumbled an explanation.

          I suppose he took my silence as judgement. Random words filtered through; "overtime", "good idea", "slip". Impulsively, I interrupted the ramble and highlighted the inflatable gravestone the man was resting on. " This is indeed a grave situation." Puzzled, the injured party swivelled his head to stare where I indicated. The headstone read: R.I.P. Best Intentions. (297 words)