Found this in an old documents folder I’ve been carrying from hard drive to hard drive for going on ten years. It’s dated 25 October 2011, which is probably accurate. I can’t stress enough that there is no point to reading this. Completed. 428 words.

Steve woke up in the morning. It was Tuesday, which Steve only remembered because he hated Tuesdays. They didn’t have the exoticism of a Friday, the anticipatory nature of a Thursday, the vaguely sensual connotation of Hump Day, or the notion of new beginnings as possessed by Mondays. Which left Tuesdays.

Steve threw back his white sheets and blue comforter. He brushed his teeth immediately; he only did this because his old girlfriend wouldn’t kiss him until he brushed his teeth, and so it became his habit. He pooped, ran a hot shower, and shaved with his $40 electric razor. Steve got dressed in khaki slacks, brown shoes he’d had for ten years, a black golf shirt, and a brown belt.

He had Cheerios for breakfast. But the store brand because he preferred their texture and also found Cheerios too expensive for what they were.

Steve checked his email.

There was a reminder to renew his subscription to pornography, ESPN Insider, and another notification about work. He hastily took care of the first two, becoming slightly aroused at the pornography message’s insistence on splashing his inbox with plastic-injected women.

The work email was interesting, but only because it told him not to show up that day. He was probably fired, but not for anything he had done. Last week (also Tuesday) he overheard his immediate superior talking about his affairs with women. It was about his secretary, and it wasn’t all that interesting except that his secretary was a doppelganger for Maggie Gyllenhaal.

Steve shrugged and went about his morning as if he was going to work -except that he wasn’t, because the email told him not to come. This annoyed Steve because Steve was a large asset to the company. He added numbers from places numbers shouldn’t come from, and took them away from where they ought to be, and then his superiors made a great deal of money. It was probably illegal, but Steve didn’t really know anything about the law.

He knew about numbers, he knew about pornography, he knew about store brand cereal, and he knew about football.

Steve was also retarded.

But only his employers and everyone who ever encountered him knew that, because Steve was better at one thing even more than his skill with numbers: making unsuspecting people believe he was retarded.

He actually despised his employers a significant amount, and so that day he went to work.

Steve killed everybody who worked there, then went home, ate some Cheerios (store brand), removed his shoes, and shot himself in the face.


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