This is Five Minute Fiction. I think you can figure that out.
The Rules
* You get five minutes to write a piece of prose in any style or genre.
* You must directly reference today’s prompt: inefficient
* Post your entry as a comment to this post.
That’s it. I’ll close the contest at 1:45. I think we know how this works, but if you are confused or just want to whine, feel free to email me.
At the close of the contest, this week’s guest judge, Emma Newman, @EmApocalyptic will nominate five finalists. I’ll put the nominees in the poll on the side of the page, and at 9:30 PM EST I’ll close the poll and declare the winner.
For updates, you can subscribe to my RSS Feed, or follow me on twitter.
What’s the prize? Well, nothing, obviously. But we’ll all agree to tweet and/or blog about the winner of today’s contest so their fame and fortune will be assured.
A Few Notes:
* In the interest of time and formatting, it’s best to type straight into the comment box. It’s also smart to do a quick highlight and copy before you hit “post” just in case the internets decide to eat your entry.
* I reserve the right to remove hate speech or similar but I’m not too picky about the other stuff.
* This is all for fun and self-promotion. So be sure to put your twitter handle at the end of your post and a link to your blog if you have one.
Go! Go! Go!
Tina looked at the broom propped up by the door.
“You can’t expect me to use that.”
“Tina, really, this place is a mess and we need to get it cleaned up before the agent gets here.”
“Not my problem.”
“It IS your problem, they were your parents too!”
Tina rolled her eyes.
“Well at least get me a leaf blower or something. Sweeping is inefficient plus that broom looks disgusting. Nearly as disgusting as the floor you expect me to sweep with it.”
Melanie sighed. “You know, some day this complete lack of anything resembling human feeling is going to come back and bite you in the ass.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
*****
“A broom? Are you kidding me!”
“Look, it’s what’s here, OK?” Thomas sighed. “Please, Meg. Please quit making a big deal out of this. It’s your mother’s home. The least you could do is help us clean it out.”
“Tina is not my mother.”
Thomas grimaced but went back to picking up the things left behind in the sad old house. “Really, Meg. I bet she wouldn’t have been like this about her mother.”
Seriously? This is how it all ends?
I suppose I should try and explain. Start at the beginning, my writing teacher would always say. But, no. Starting at the beginning would take too long, and after all, I am at the end now. So, I shall simply start there. At the end.
I am here, now, hanging from this precipice, looking back at my life, wondering if it was all worthwhile. I think, seeing the whole of it stretch before me, I am forced to say that it wasn’t. There were so many bad decisions I made, so many turns down dark alleys I took that, if I could, I would take it all back. I took long, winding roads to reach my goal that were, after all, very inefficient, and I can see, now, how several paths I could have taken were better, and would have lead me to a happier place much quicker.
Instead, I am here, waiting for the strength in my hand to give out. I bemoan that this is not how I should end. This is not how my life should end. What had I done that would have me remembered? I have wasted my life, chasing after a dream, hungry for it, but never quite doing the things I needed to in order to catch it.
And so, I tell this tale now, in the hopes that I can be remembered, remembered for who I truly am, and not for the mad genius I tried to present to the world.
My hand gives up, and I fall. I scream to the heavens. Remember me! For I am Wily E. Coyote, Super Genius!
@blanchardauthor
Suzannah Burke wanted to participate but she lives in Oz and it’s the wee hours of the morning for her. So I gave her the prompt yesterday and she returned this to me within ten minutes of the email going out:
“I dunno Danny, seems a bit over the top to me, can’t we just give him a scare?”
“Don’t be bloody stupid, the boss said take care of him…and you know what that means. So we set it up and get it done. Just another accident on a high rise building site mate. No one will even blink.”
“Are ya sure there ain’t no other way?”
“Not if we don’t want to be ‘taken care of’ ourselves.”
“Righto, lets get it done then.”
“You call him over I’ll get the ladder ready.”
“Okay.”
“Yeah, watch this.”
“Hey Nick my man, get your ass over here and get some practise in on working the ladder and pulley.”
“Yo, coming.”
“What ya want me to do?”
“The ladder is the one place ya don’t wear the safety harness, so Ya gotta get right to the top rung and stay staedy, we’ll be here bellow so don’t worry.”
“Yeah … are you certain about not wearing the harness?”
“Of course, now up ya go.”
“It’s mighty close to the edge guys.”
“Whatsa matter, you chicken shit or what.?
“No I’m good . Well here goes nothin'”
The younger man climbed up the extension ladder that perched on the edge of the building, as he reached the top rungs the ladder moved suddenly and sent him plunging over the side, screaming as his body hurtled to the ground 37 floors down.
Danny and Pete looked a little pale but had done what they where told. The matter had been taken care of.
“You two, get over here.” Nicko called .
“So, you been taking care of my son?”
http://twitter.com/pursoot
http://dudesdownunder.weebly.com/
@noellepierce on Twitter
The caulking around the marble counter tops in the kitchen was cracking. The faucet had come apart twice and been super-glued back together. In the bathroom, black, nasty mildew was growing under the “seal” to keep water from running under the glass window surrounding the shower. Tiles cracked. Light fixtures drooped.
And the house was only a year old.
The builder had gone bankrupt shortly after completing the house, and the couple looked around at their home with a mixture of disgust and disappointment. The builders hadn’t seemed so bad on paper. The models didn’t appear to have these problems. So the couple custom-built their dream home, sinking all available money into the mortgage down payment.
And the inefficient builders happily took the money, leaving the couple no recourse.
As the couple assessed the areas needing improvement, they saw every penny they’d saved flying away with tiny wings, like in those cartoons. Their future children’s college funds depleted. Retirement savings would have to wait.
And their dream morphed into a nightmare.
He stood, hands on hips, like a huge traffic pylon in the middle of the room, stubbornly blocking the way on each and every trip.
“I warned you about this yesterday,” James finally snapped.
“Did you?” the lazy semi-smirk in his boyfriend’s voice was enough provocation all on its own. Add the insufferable rudeness implied by Michael’s reading, rather than paying attention, and his blood pressure hit a new personal best.
“You could help, you know.”
“I think not. It’s so much more fun watching you squirm.”
“Fine. No participation, no reward,” James ground out.
He gasped as the world spun and he found himself suspended by a pair of strong arms. “Your way is so inefficient,” Michael chuckled. “I vote we just skip right to the reward.”
“And what do I get if you get your reward?”
“I would hope it’s your reward too. Guess I need to work a bit harder. I’m all for efficiency, after all.”
@SesshasWorld
All she does is complain. From the moment we get up till she finally starts to snore. I know the work on the house is not going well, but short of pulling out a hammer and doing the job myself, I can’t do much about it.
I knew things were going wrong myself when they tore off the the entire side wall of the house and left for another day while it rained. It took me 2 hours of calling and calling through their inefficient phone system to finally get someone to agree to come out and tarp the thing. Took another 2 hours for them to arrive. Good thing it’s spring and the air has been fairly mild.
She was still upstairs, running her mouth and stomping around. I mentally warned to be careful or she’s coming right through that floor. That’s when I heard it, the crash, the scream, and the deafening silence. I ran up the stairs and down the hall. I black cloud floated over as I see the sliding glass door in our room open. Our balcony was once there, before the contractors arrived. Now it’s open and the small note by the handle saying “Do Not Open” is slide to the center of the door.
I ran to the door and half cried, half laughed as I saw my wife dangling from a ladder, her bathrobe hooked on it’s end as she fell.
Maybe I’ll just leave her there. It’s harder to hear her bitching when she’s outside.
@JulesCarey
I lost all measure of reason and darted for the writing desk to my left, finding the only semblance of a stake I could, I grabbed it and darted for him. I had not meant to stab him, but as I turned my back, he followed me and I shot around with the pencil tight in my fist and lunged before thinking. I gasped, pulling my hands up to cover my mouth, as I saw the pencil protruding out just below his collarbone.
He looked shocked. His eyes were wide as he looked at me, then he lowered his head to stare down at the injury. I saw his shoulder lower as he exhaled, then the small shake of his head.
“Now you’re just embarrassing yourself,” he said, grabbing the pencil and pulling it with a flick of his wrist out of his body. He threw the pencil onto the counter and I saw the bright smear of blood on its surface. He gave me an expression that was seeped in disappointment and he clucked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “You cannot kill me with a number two, love.”
@teetate
The principal’s evaluation intrument, as approved by the state department of public schools, did not clearly identify any particular area in which the teacher needed improvement or failed to execute the duties for which he was employed. As a first year, probationary, teacher the standards for dismissal were nebulous to say the least. The one term that stuck in the teacher’s mind all these years later was ‘inefficient’. “This employee makes inefficient use of time during the instructional and planning day.”
What exactly way the inefficiency? Posting daily birthdays for every child in the 400 student school on the illuminated crawling message board? Sending handwritten notes to every parent at least once each report perioid? The possibilities were endless in the young teacher’s mind, but now that he was unemployed, it didn’t seem an efficient use of his time to ponder them further.
chalkdust49
“Am I still here?”
“Um…yes?”
“Oh thank God,” I said, unclenching my eyes slowly to keep from being blinded by the bright lab lights outside the Chrono Decelerator.
“How many times have you traveled back in time?”
“At least fifty, if I had to guess.”
“You think you’d be used to it,” Amy said. She stood behind her usual spot at the control panel, filing away at her nails. Her right leg stuck out in front of her, left back supporting all her weight. The way she stood when she was annoyed.
“Were you…even monitoring my vitals while I was gone?”
“Ugh. Of course I was.”
“You haven’t even looked at them, have you?” I demanded.
“Everything is fine. Christ. You’re lucky I’m even helping you with this boondoggle.”
“But…I could have died! I could have created a universe ending paradox!”
“Meh.”
I glared at her, trying to melt a hole through her makeup caked face. My stare went mostly unnoticed.
“So,” she said, brushing me off. “Did you fix it?”
“No. I never can. I’m always too late,” I said.
She flicked her eyebrows up, unconsciously. “Surprise, surprise.”
“She always gets on the train.”
For the first time, Amy stopped what she was doing and looked at me.
“Why don’t you just blow up the goddamn train station before she gets there. That’ll stop her.”
She went back to filing her nails, confident her sarcasm had done its work. All it had done was plant a seed. It was a ridiculous, inefficient idea. It would unravel countless threads in the space-time continuum.
But it would work.
“I’m going again.”
“Wait, what?”
“I’m going,” and I hit the button myself, my last view of her mouth pursed in an “O” of surprise.
After the station was destroyed, I felt the tug of the Chrono Decelerator pulling me back to the time I belonged. Every atom in me blasted apart, and then slammed back together. For a moment, I was clinically dead. Because I didn’t exist.
I opened my eyes, the lights washing out the entire lab. I sat up, and looked over to the controls.
Amy wasn’t there, and my insides felt like they wanted to crawl out my throat.
I’d killed her.
@pfallerj
Ramona stood in front of the black tower and struggled to hold the stack of papers in her arms. This was the fifth time she had taken the day long trip to the Ministry of Minor Complaints and each time the forms requested grew in proportion to the time she was wasting.
She pushed the buzzer next to the door and a small red screen lit up.
“Please state your name, identification, and purpose of visit.”
“Ramona Lecompte, personal assistant, I’m here to drop off an invoice for Minister of –”
“Thank you. All deliveries should be in triplicate copy and brought to the receiving room between the hours of –”
The red screen flickered out, but not before it spit out another form for her to request a map to the receiving room. Ramona pulled it out and walked over to wooden table near a tree with no leaves.
For the past two weeks she had struggled with how she could get the information from her boss to the complaints minister. Now she felt shut down once more and decided to eat her sandwich that she had carried from her office to gain the strength to give it one more go.
“I’m sorry Miss, but do you have the proper permit for the consumption of food on public property.”
Ramona looked up at the tall officer and sadly shook her head no. He reached out with a black leather glove and took the sandwich out of her hand, placing it in a small plastic bag.
Her lunch had been confiscated.
She turned around and wondered what she was going to do now, when a wind took up the stack of papers and blew them across the front lawn of the ministry.
Without warning a dozen officers came out of nowhere and began chasing the papers around.
“Halt! Littering is not permitted without proper permits.”
“Stop! Crossing the grass with the proper certificate will result in administrative action.”
“Cease and Desist your unauthorized use of the wind.”
Ramona could not help but laugh and thought that this had turned out better than she had thought.
http://twitter.com/robertstories
http://www.robertstories.com
The rumble sounded closer this time, almost overhead, and the clouds were a swirling grey and black tumult over the mountain behind the building site. Joe looked at Herb, to see if maybe just once he’d look up from what he was doing, maybe even think about taking a break. No way. They were just going to keep plugging away, and if it rained they’d still keep going. He called that ‘being efficient’.
Never mind that all the timber would be wet when they put the dry wall on in a few days. Never mind that all the two by fours would warp and twist. Herb didn’t care about that, he’d be long gone, with his part of the job paid for, all finished by the deadline.
Joe decided he’d never buy a new house, especially from an efficient builder, dedicated to on-time completion.
“Dammit, Jake, I can’t hold onto this sucker much longer. ‘sides, ya need to get that thar nailgun aimed somewheres other than ma foot.”
“Ah shut yer face why dontcha?”
“Whadya, mean, me? It warn’t my fault.”
“Was too.”
“Now how the hell ya figure that?”
“It was yer idea.”
“Yeah, so. It was a goon’yn warn’t it. I mean, it couldn’t a worked out better if’n we tried, ya know?”
“Yeah, well, he ain’t gonna be too happy when he gets back.”
“Back? Yer joking right? He ain’t gonna stop til he gets to Lake Tahoe.”
“Yo, youse guys!”
“What, asshole?”
“I need the boss. We got’s us as situation up here.”
“Well, ya better figure it out on yer own cause An-der-oo ain’t gonna be here fer a bit.”
Well, I cain’t cause I ain’t been trained and sides that OSHA guys got us under a telescope.”
“Say what?”
“Yeah, he’s on that ridge cross the way.”
“Oh, fuck. Jake, help me get this telescoping pole set out.”
“Told ya.”
“Shut it.”
“Hold on, boss. We’re gonna send this down to ya.”
“Uh, Boss, can ya hear us? Mack, I think he’s dead or something.”
“Nah, he’s OK. Look he’s waving at us.”
“That ain’t no wave, numnuts.”
“Crap. He’s still gots the other nailgun. Fuck it. I’m going go help dimwit, I’m not trained, on the roof.”
“What ’bout me?”
“Ya gots yer own nailgun. Good luck with that. Uh-oh, hey Boss…”
“Gentlemen, are y’all feeling lucky?”
She didn’t even realize he walked into the room until she heard the loud slap of papers hit the desk. Looking up into the intense charcoal eyes of her boss, she couldn’t help but ask, “Is there a problem?”
“Is there a problem?” he echoed, only sounding more annoyed that she did. “You bet there’s a problem. Wanna explain what this is?”
She looked down at the folders once again that interrupted her work. Opening the folders slowly, and skimming through the papers, she sighed. “Isn’t this the file you wanted?”
He rolled his eyes. “Miss. Stewart, I didn’t want you to give me the files on Davison. I wanted the files on Davidson. Is there a problem with your hearing?”
Frowning, Angela Stewart looked at her boss again. “Sorry. The files for Davidson. Of course.”
She stood, spreading her now trembling hands down her navy blue skirt, feeling as inefficient as ever. Her boss always treated her like this whenever she made even the slightest mistake. She was so tired of dealing with his burst of anger. She was beyond tired of dealing with his demanding schedules and never having a life. Most importantly, she was tired of telling Career Builder about it. It’s not like they answered her prayers of getting out of this terrible office, anyway.
The whole time she went to the files to grab the folder her boss wanted, he leaned against her desk, watching her as she carefully looked through the D’s. Muttering Davidson to herself, and occasionally humming the alphabet song to herself, she finally came across the problem.
Davidson didn’t exist.
Standing she placed a finger on her chin, thinking of what the problem could be.
“Well? Before I get any older,” her boss rolled his eyes and huffed out an annoyed breath.
Turning after taking a few deep breaths herself, she looked at her boss. “Are you sure you were looking for a Davidson?”
“Yes. A Jerry Davidson. It should say it in the email I sent you.”
She walked back over to her desk to look at the email message and see what the problem could be. Smiling smugly to herself, she turned her screen to look at her boss. She watched as reasoning settled in his features, and snuffed out the fire of his eyes. “Davidson? Or the Davison you requested in your email?”
Without even a word of an apology, Angela watched as he snatched the files from her desk and slammed the door to his office once more.
Seems even a boss can be inefficient sometimes…
@shells2003
Demetrius ran his killings to a tight schedule. Every detail was planned in advance–all options considered, variables minimized, hazards eliminated. His system was designed for maximum efficiency: in, kill, out, disappear.
But this latest job was making him irritable. The man simply would not follow any kind of discernable routine. One coffee shop one morning, a different one the next. Lunch in the office, across the street at the diner, in the drive-through at the Taco Bell. Not a single day seemed to pass without a hundred tiny variations. He didn’t even drive the same route home two days in a row. Demetrius couldn’t understand such people.
After three weeks of unpredictability, Demetrius decided to break one of his many rules: the killing would have to be at the man’s house. A man’s home was sacrosanct, in Demetrius’ view, but there was no way to arrange things to his satisfaction otherwise. He sighed as he watched the windows through the telescope, screwing the silencer on the Beretta with quick, practised motions. In the living room, then, while he was watching TV.
The bushes provided adequate cover as he slipped through the garden toward the house. 24 steps to the azalea bushes, another 8 to the brick wall between the bathroom and kitchen windows. Crouch, crawl beneath the window, edge toward the door. The noise from the ball game crackled through the plate glass. Inside the house, the thud of heels on floorboards receded from the kitchen.
Demetrius glanced through the glass door, reaching for the handle. He eased it open, jiggling the handle just so to prevent a click (of course he had researched this kind of lock). He padded on soft feet throught the kitchen, gun at the ready. The announcer called a strikeout. The crowd roared.
He stole a quick glance round the corner, but instead of the back of the man’s head leaning on the couchback, he saw the cold, black point of a pistol aimed at his eye.
Martin leaned down to look at the dead assassin. Demetrius. Sad that they sent this neurotic son of a bitch, he thought. A better killer might’ve gotten the job done. Then I wouldn’t have to clean my carpet again. He sighed and wandered to the bathroom for the cleaning supplies.
*****
Grr. That didn’t gel the way I wanted it to. Ah, well. Fun challenge!
Richard Wood couldn’t get his to post, so he emailed it to me:
I don’t like sleeping very much. Well, that’s not entirely true. Sleep, I like.
It’s the dreams that come every time I shut my eyes.
They always start the same. I’m in a big city. New York, maybe. It’s a beautiful day and I’m walking along the street taking in the hustle and bustle of city life. Relishing the chaos as I walk through the man-made canyons.
At some point, the dream changes. I’m at the top of a large building, overlooking the city. The view is breathtaking. That’s when I see it.
A plane, flying fast– heading straight for me. There is an explosion and a sense of falling.
Before I hit the ground, the scene changes. I’m in a field somewhere. The smells of grass and of farms permeate my senses. I’m happy.
I look up when I hear a noise. Once again I see a plane, this time it’s heading straight for the ground. In my head I can hear people scream as the large jet impales itself in the once beautiful field at my feet.
Once more the scene jumps. I’m in a building wearing a military uniform…
A noise, one less dramatic, startles me. I’d nodded off again, damn it. The cold sweat dribbled down my back and a wave of helplessness almost overwhelms me.
I see the door open and two men enter. One, I know all too well. The other is dressed in a suit and a tie. I don’t recognize him. It is this unknown man who speaks first.
“And this one?” He says in almost a bored voice.
“Sloane Peterson,” says the man in white. “Thirty One. Showed promise, but her mind snapped during the last trials. Keeps going on about planes and buildings.”
“All right. I’ll let the President know.”
“The President?” I said, my voice croaky, while trying to stand. This man has the ear of the President! “Please sir! I need to speak with President Bush right away! Something terrible is about to happen…planes….attack…” I struggled to get to him. I had to tell him!
“See?” Said the man in white, ignoring me.
The suited man looked at me dispassionately. “Young lady,” he said. “There is no President Bush.” Turning to the other man, he said, “President Nixon will be watching the moon landing this evening. I’ll let him know the future viewing program is a complete failure and an inefficient use of taxpayer money. Keep her locked in here until we cure her or she dies. We don’t want word about her crazy rantings scaring the public, now do we?”
@rbwood
http://www.rbwood.com
And that’s it, chickadees. That’s a wrap.
I wasn’t feeling it this week. Happens, right. Well, at least I put up something. That’s some life lesson, right? Or something?
Poll should be up by 3:00. Thanks everyone! And welcome to the new faces!
I stared with my mouth hanging open as my supervisor berated me in front of my colleagues. All I could see were his lips flapping and curling around the words he spewed. I really didn’t know what he was saying. I did, thought, heard the word “inefficient”
At what? I’m wondering. I come in on my days off, make sure that everyone gets paid, put in for projects that I know that I more than qualify for and the list goes on. This guy is just yammering away. I let my eyes slide out of focus and work to keep a smile off my face. I picture him clearly now, in the middle of a blazing inferno as I dance around him, liberally sprinkling gasoline on the flames. I sigh happily and say to myself, what the hell. I let my smile bloom.
** I forgot my twitter thingie, so this makes me twice as inefficient lol**
@Ren_Thompson
I wasn’t feeling it either. I thought it was just me. I have been seriously outta practice this summer and I think it’s really showing! UGH!
Thanks for the chance to warm back up a bit, Leah!
A couple of these show after my “time’s up” post, but that’s because they got stuck waiting for my approval for some reason. (I don’t usually moderate comments, not sure what happened.
And for those of you who goofed and forgot your twitter handles, I fixed it for you.
OK! See you in an hour with the nominees!
right….should have added my twitter name @shells2003 feel free to follow!
Dang, I should have added my @teetate as well. Also, as this was my first, I’m not sure I did it right. LOL, but it was fun.