Sean/ Shaun/ Shawn

Reads: 46  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: The Imaginarium
Nobody has an inherent identity.

Submitted: May 09, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 09, 2017

A A A

A A A


‘Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes’

  • Walt Whitman

 

Sean/ Shaun/ Shawn

 

Sean

Born: 01/03/1934

Parallel world: 75754848994567/10000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 etc.

 

Sean slammed down the phone and yelled for Betty to get the hell in here.

Betty shuffled into the office, looking down her crescent glasses, the books in her arms trembling. ‘Yes, Mr. Drake?’

‘Betty, come over here and look at this.’

Betty approached his desk and flicked through the documents spread out on his desk.

‘Do you see any problems with what’s written here?’ he asked her.

Betty wrinkled her nose and pored over the documents, her frown stretching with each turned page. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Please tell me the problem, Betty.’

‘Sales are low,’ she said.

‘Right. Now tell me whose fault it is.’

Betty didn’t need to scan the documents too hard to come up with the answer. ‘Howard’s.’

‘Exactly. Howard’s fault. His numbers have been shit for months. Nobody told me. Why did nobody tell me, Betty? Why do I have to sort through this pile of crap myself? This is your job, right?’

‘Yes, sir. I was aware his numbers were a bit low,’ she replied.

‘Yeah? What happened then, Betty? You never told me, it’s because you knew I would fire his ass, didn’t you?’

‘I admit that was part of it,’ said Betty. ‘But he was still new and learning the ropes. I had a hunch he would get better in time, and if you look closely, you can see that his sales steadily increase over time.’

‘Thank you for your hunches, Betty,’ said Sean, ‘but they have no place here. The only hunches I’ll be listening to are my own. Your hunches don’t get to decide what’s best for this company. I see this as a betrayal, you understand.’

‘I’m sorry, sir. I promise to report any irregularities to you in the future.’

‘No need,’ said Sean. ‘I just fired Howard, and I’m firing you. Pity. You were a decent secretary, but there’s a thousand decent secretaries out there.’

Betty’s mouth fell open. ‘You’re firing me for another employee’s poor performance?’

‘I’m firing you for your disloyalty towards company interests. I need someone who will do what’s best, not someone who bows to their own misguided moral compass.’

Betty stormed out, slamming the door, and Sean sparked up a cigar. He brushed a hand through his carrot orange hair and rubbed at his freckled temples. Betty opened the door a crack and peeked her head through.

‘What is it, Betty?’

‘Everyone knows you’re a closet faggot, sir.’ She shut the door.

Sean’s cigar fell out of his mouth, and he kicked his desk hard enough to make himself yelp.

 

Shaun

Born: 07/07/1987

Parallel world: 98574975934633997/10000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 etc.

 

I’m Shaun Drake, more commonly known as ‘that scarred-up wheelchair guy’. Don’t think I don’t know that this has been both a blessing and a curse. Of course, you know how it’s been a curse - when one has been burned alive in a car fire and had to live through 13 skin graft surgeries, you can see the downsides quite quickly. I was born in Scotland, and my fool ex-boyfriend Terry ploughed into another car, starting off a dramatic chain of events I won’t delve into here. The upside of this accident, of course, is my career as the author of a best-selling self-help book. People look at my condition and think why, if that poor sub-human can accomplish difficult tasks and overcome his own disability, then surely I, a normal, functioning human being can achieve even more! People buy my self-help books to inspire themselves. Perhaps they would find the idea of being less successful than a burned cripple an embarrassment. I’m not mad at them, I just see how it is - I even encourage this way of thinking. If that’s the boost they need to do what they need to do, then I say keep thinking like that! It doesn’t matter how you achieve success and happiness, as long as it isn’t to the detriment of anyone else. Now isn’t that an inspirational thought?

You can find happiness in unlikely places, and I remember my first happy thought after going through the trauma of hospitals, surgeries, pain and despair. To this day I still find solace in this one single thought: At least my bright orange hair can’t grow back. Silver linings.

 

Shawn

Born: 07/07/1987

Parallel world: 03/10000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 etc.

‘Shawn, you got beef gravy.’

Shawn looked up from his lego spaceship and blinked. ‘Yes, Terry I got the beef gravy.’

Terry walked into the lounge, holding the beef gravy pot in his hands. He shook it in Shawn’s face. ‘You don’t understand the artistry of cooking, do you?’

‘That’s why I leave it to you, dear,’ said Shawn.  ‘You’re the cook, I’m the one who builds awesome lego sculptures. We each have our talents.’

‘God knows I don’t ask for you to cook,’ said Terry. ‘All I ask is that you get the right ingredients. Beef gravy over a roast chicken dinner - are you mad?’

‘Gravy’s gravy,’ said Shawn, tenderly placing a lego man aboard his now complete spaceship.

‘The nuances matter,’ said Terry. ‘Would you approve if I placed a fat green lego brick right on top of your spaceship?’

‘I’d disapprove,’ said Shawn, ‘but with your sense of taste I wouldn’t be surprised.’ He picked up his spaceship and shoved it in front of Terry’s face. ‘Look what I created – and you speak to me of matters concerning gravy - I’ll have your head!’ He gave Terry’s face a light tap.

‘Why did I marry you, Shawn? You’re an abusive man.’

‘Yep,’ said Shawn. ‘Thirteen years now, you must secretly love it. Dirty masochist.’

‘I can forgive the abuse,’ said Terry.

‘Good.’

‘I can forgive the gravy,’ said Terry.

‘Excellent.’

‘Do you know what I can’t forgive?’

‘What?’ said Shawn.

‘I can never forgive that luminous orange hair and freckles.’

‘You fell in love with the orange hair and freckles,’ said Shawn. ‘I was simply cursed with them. You should be more ashamed than me.’

‘God, you suck.’

‘What time’s Betty coming over?’ asked Shawn. ‘I can’t wait to hear her latest gossip.’

 

END

 

 

 

 


© Copyright 2017 Reagle. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Comments

More Literary Fiction Short Stories

Booksie 2017-2018 Short Story Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by Reagle

Short Story / Horror

Dive

Short Story / Literary Fiction

Mr. Grumpy and Mr. Tickle

Short Story / Literary Fiction

Popular Tags