Wednesday, January 21, 2009

That’s Life, Trent

That’s Life, Trent
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 482

Trent hated his life; nothing ever seemed to go right for him. He worked for a right cow of a boss, who was so self centred she didn’t hear anything anyone said. She often went into hysterics over nothing, crying if she didn’t get what she wanted. How she became a manager was beyond Trent’s comprehension; although she did sleep with just about anything and drank like a fish. Her latest escapade was leading Trent on to think that he would get a promotion; well he did do nearly all of her work for her as she was often too drunk after her pub lunch to do anything herself. Trent was passed over for this promotion by someone external to the company that giggled like a little school girl every time she spoke.

Feeling depressed, Trent stopped in the City Botanical Gardens on the way to work, sat down on a park bench and cried. After a few minutes, he noticed a small, brown paper bag sitting on the park bench beside him. He didn’t recall seeing it when he sat down, but that was no surprise really. When he opened it and looked inside, he was astonished at what he found.

“No way,” he said to himself.

There were photos of his skanky boss buck naked and going for it with the CEO of the company. Trent looked around. There was no one else in the park, or at least no one that could have dropped the bag beside him and done a runner.

He rummaged through the bag and found a wad of one hundred dollar notes, wrapped in a pair of dirty panties. Trent counted the notes.

“Five thousand dollars, no way.”

He stood up, feeling a lot happier about going to work now. The thought of pinning the photos up on the notice board in the lunchroom crossed his mind. Now, he couldn’t wait to get to work.

“Maybe things are going to start going your way, Trenty boy.”

Trent felt a heavy weight hit him in the chest and knock him to the ground. A large, burly cop sat on his chest, grinning at him.

“You have the right to remain silent,” the cop began.

“What are you doing?”

“Black mail is a serious offence, son,” the cop said. “And I don’t like people who go snooping around, taking photos of what ladies do in the comfort of their own home.”

Trent looked at the bag on the ground. Its contents were scattered on the pavement. He saw a woman’s hand pick up the photos and couldn’t believe it. His boss was standing over him now, smiling.

“That’s him officer,” she said. “He has been angry at me ever since he missed getting a promotion.”

Trent looked at the officer, then at his boss. She winked at him and he knew that he had been set up.

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