The End: Part 4

The clangor of the noisy kitchen was no match for the menacing snap of her heels hitting the tiled floor as she marched her way towards him. With a final smack of those cherry red weapons she wore as shoes, Veronica Mongelli planted herself a couple counters away from his swampy station. With his eyes tracing the floor, he turned around, wincing at each angry tap of her impatient foot. As he shuffled slowly towards her, he could already sense the heat that would come with her scorching words. The tapping became harsher. He reluctantly raised his eyes to meet Ms. Mongelli’s. They were instantly captured by the glare that spewed from her dragon eyes, shooting out from those angry eyelashes sticky with mascara, her dark grey eyes like thunderclouds sadistically threatening to bring a storm crashing down. 

A waitress juggled a wobbling tower of dishes, more focused on her task than her surroundings, and made the fatal error of stepping between the lioness and her prey. She fought to keep her balance until her grubby tennis shoe was met with the unforgiving toe of a sleek stiletto. The worn soles of her shoes squealed as they fled from under her body. Percie lunged forward and caught the waitress in her tumble, but the same could not be said for the dishes. Their ankles were bombarded with an explosion of ceramic shards as every plate smashed against the floor. The dead silence that choked the entire kitchen was shattered by Ms. Mongelli’s piercing screech. “You idiot!”

“It was jus- it was an accident. I’m-I’m sorry,” With Percie’s helping hand, she returned to standing but she cowered away from her boss in fear, her panic threatening to trip her words. “I’ll c-clean it up, all of it, and you can take it out of my pay and you can-”

“I can do whatever I want.” Ms. Mongelli’s cracked red lipstick shifted into a nasty sneer as she leaned close enough for the shaken waitress to see the pure delight gleaming in her vicious eyes. She spit the words “You’re fired” into the poor girl’s face.

“What? It was an accident! I need this job. You don’t get it. My mom’s sick a-and she needs an operation and I’ve already sold everything to try and pay for it. Please, I’m begging you.”

Ms. Mongelli’s face softened as if to give the illusion that she did in fact have a heart, but her icy glare betrayed her true character. “Well, in that case,” she sang as she dramatically wrapped her arms around her victim, turning her towards the kitchen doors. “We offer catering for all of the different events in your life. Give us a call for the funeral.”

“You’re a witch.” All the air was sucked out of the kitchen as every employee inhaled sharply as the waitress took one final stab at her lethal opponent. A single blood red nail traced across the waitress’s cheek as Ms. Mongelli whispered into her ear, “No my dear. I’m a queen.”

The guests seated in the restaurant could only wonder why such a nicely dressed woman stood cackling at a waitress fleeing the kitchen in tears. Very few really cared. As long as it didn’t make them wait for their food any longer.

The End: Part 3

A greasy print marked the cover of Percie’s beloved notebook as his anxious hands gingerly wrapped it in his fraying coat. He tucked it as far back in the locker as possible and carefully listened for the comforting sound of the lock clicking into place. Percie checked the lock again. It was all he had to protect the one thing that gave him a will to live.

He looked back at the bundled notebook trapped behind the grating of the locker one more time before pushing his way through the kitchen doors. His ears were immediately bombarded by the banging of pots and pans, the stern demand for orders of seared cod, and the fire hot sizzle of the stove. Percie fought his way past the counters, struggling to get thru the heavy traffic of kitchen staff running every which way. He finally escaped the entanglement to find his station already stacked high with dishes. Duty calls. Pushing his unwashed sleeves up as far above his elbows as they would go, he began to scrub away at the filthy mess left by superior human beings. 

Drip. Drop. The leaky sink slowly formed a puddle at his feet as he scrubbed furiously at a food-crusted plate. With each dish delivered to himm came the clang of it hitting the others in the pile. Cling. Clang. 

Soon, they weren’t the sounds of plates hitting bowls anymore, but the ting-tang of metal striking metal. He could practically see the swords clashing together and soon the gloved hands of two dueling warriors grasped them as well. Those hands grew arms and those arms grew bodies and within a few seconds the kitchen became host to a battle of honor. They danced among the cooks and waiters, their swords keeping beat with the frantic song sung by a kitchen full of desperate people. 

The two climbed onto the counters, one lunging and the other leaping and back and forth and back and forth it went until finally one got the upper hand and in a valiant sweep he knocked his opponent’s sword into the air. It instantly vanished as it lost relevance in the fantasy. 

The victor tore his helmet away from his face to reveal his true identity, for one should know before they die that they had fought a king. Terror struck his opponent as he stared at what could only be a ghost. “This is impossible. How could you have escaped the dungeon?” The King chuckled at his opponent’s astonishment and replied, “Why, all I had to do wa-”

“Dish-boy!” Her demanding voice boomed across the kitchen, every chef and waiter scrambling like an ant to stay out of its path. He was instantly slammed back into his own world, his foggy eyes returning to focus on the plate he had been scrubbing forcefully for who knows how long, dishes stacked like the pillars of a castle next to him. Drip. Drop.

The End: Part 2

He rounded the corner tattooed by graffiti and was blinded by the demanding white light shining violently from the windows of the electronics store. Polished smartphones and tablets laid in meticulously organized rows on the front counter, but what called his attention were the slim laptops behind them. He leaned closer to the window, his humid breath leaving moisture on the glass. A laptop. A laptop came with keys. And those keys carried letters that could form words. He was in a desperate need for words. But those words came from keys which came on the keyboards of laptops with price tags more than his own life was worth. The worn leather notebook he gripped tightly in his hand was the closest thing he had to a laptop. At least he didn’t have to worry about anyone trying to steal it. 

While the notebook appeared worthless, the story it contained would someday be worth millions. At least that’s what he thought. It was the tale of a valiant king. One who could singlehandedly defeat one hundred men. One who never backed down from a fight, who was never afraid. One who ruled his grand and glorious kingdom with fair principles. But he was also one who shouldn’t have trusted the queen. Shouldn’t have trusted his wife. 

The excited beeps of an alarm clock inside the store interrupted the author’s thoughts. The angry numbers on that timepiece demanded he hurry up. He wasn’t planning on working at The Mongelli for the rest of his life, but he wasn’t looking to lose his job either. 

Finally arriving at the gleaming glass doors of the fine dining establishment, he hurried past the front entrance to the rusty back door by the dumpsters. He wasn’t allowed to enter through the front door. No one wanted to lose their appetite by catching a glimpse of the miserable dish boy. He snatched the clipboard from where it hung on the wall and quickly scratched in a deceptive time next to his name. Percie N Tillt.

The End: Part 1

Never before had an author struggled to finish a story like he had. Little did he know it was his own, and that the ending would determine his fate. While this man seemed like just another one of the hundred bodies scuttling across the street, his mind carried him to whole other world. Suit jackets and old sweatshirts bumped into him on both sides as people ran past. He needed to get to work as much as they did, but he didn’t have the energy nor the motivation to go any faster than a sulking saunter. Washing dishes wasn’t a misery someone rushed towards. Besides, this job wouldn’t last. They never did. He wasn’t meant to wash dishes for his whole life anyways. He had a story brewing in his mind.  A story that someday would fill the shelves of every bookstore in the city. A story that every child would beg to hear just one more time before bed. It was a story that would amaze. If only he knew how it ended.

Here’s The Deal

No one is here...Yet (how dramatic). This will be mostly whatever the frick frack tic tac I want it to be! Mostly writing. Some ranting. Some blogging ranting. Just get ready for the insanity. Now let’s get to it.