This post is part of Writer’s Digest February Flash Fiction Challenge. Flash Fiction is a short, often under 1,000 words, style of writing. I hope you enjoy my 28 contributions!
Day 10 Prompt: Animals
Carrie slammed the door as she sauntered into her tiny, cold apartment. She grunted as she flung her heavy bag off her shoulder onto the floor, then kicked off her boots, unwound the itchy scarf from around her neck, and wiggled out of her thick coat. Free from the binds of her winterwear, she made her way towards the kitchen for her ritualistic after work Dr. Pepper. On her way, she saw Samson’s two bright green eyes glowing at her from the chair in the corner that he took over years ago. “Hey, Sammy,” Carrie said, before turning into the kitchen.
She reemerged, looking only slightly better after having taken a few sips of her lifelong favorite beverage, but still a sulking heap of human exhaustion. Carrie locked eyes with Samson again, asking, “What?” defensively, as she walked over to her end-of-the-day spot on the couch. She picked up the remote and started flipping aimlessly through unwatched Netflix shows while wrapping herself in an old blanket. In her peripheral, she could still see Samson’s eyes glowing judgmentally in her direction. “Don’t worry, Sammy, I’ll be fine. It was just another…” she took a deep, elongated breath, “… another awful day.”
Samson blinked at her slowly, unamused and annoyed with her now daily rant about everything she hated about work. Dismissing the cue, Carrie set the remote down, took another swig of her Dr. Pepper, then resumed pouring her day’s problems out onto the unfortunate cat.
“Honestly, Sammy, I just don’t get what he sees in Linda. Sure, she’s been there, what, six months longer than me?” She rolled her eyes as she pictured Linda’s face in her mind. “I literally had to teach her how to use Outlook. An Executive Assistant that doesn’t know how to use Outlook – are you kidding me?” Her voice was rising, so she quelled her roiling emotions with another mouthful of Dr. Pepper. “I just don’t get why I wouldn’t be up for the promotion with my skillset.”
Samson yawned and slowly blinked again before adjusting his position.
“You’re right, I should eat.”
With another exacerbated exhale, Carrie got up and moved into the kitchen where she started to make some chicken noodle soup, another lifelong favorite, especially on cold nights like tonight. While the food was warming on the stove, she peaked her head around the corner and, with the big wooden spoon in hand, volleyed another series of complaints at Samson. “Oh and get this. I found out that Linda told Mr. Ainsworth that she wrote the report on Q3 recruiting results.” She was flailing the cooking spoon around wildly. “I WROTE THAT REPORT!” With another loud grunt, she returned to the kitchen to tend to her now boiling soup.
A few minutes later, back on the couch, Carrie tested the soup, which was still too hot. Netflix, now entering sleep mode, dimmed on the tv screen in front of her. “I just thought I’d be further along by now. Two years with no promotion and no recognition.” She looked around her tiny apartment. “And still stuck here. I deserve better!” She wrapped the blanket around her again, shivering as she looked at her intermittent radiator. “Sammy, we deserve better.”
Carrie turned back towards the TV and picked up the remote when Samson let out a long, loud meow. “I know, I know. I’m sorry about all the complaining. There’s nothing I can do.”
She flipped through a couple options when suddenly, from the corner of the room, she heard, “No, I was going to say you should look for a new job.”
Carrie froze, her eyes wide and mouth hanging open. She turned slowly towards Samson’s chair and locked eyes with her fat, orange cat, unable to speak. His eyes locked on hers, unblinking and emerald green. “Oh, and can you please change my food. I hate that crap.”
