A man, Nicholas Fitzgerald often called Toppy, trips up the stairs to his assigned room of the company's apartment complex. He is returning from a dinner party meant to celebrate the milestone of making 100 million in profits. They went all out, booked the entirety of a five star restaurant , had servers waiting hand and foot for them then stayed past closing.
On this joyous occasion there was food and drinks of every variety and every cocktail under the sun was pushed out of the bar and chugged down Nicholas' throat. By the end of the night, the only thing Toppy could remember was getting to the venue and his supervisor congratulating him for contributing so much to the company's profit through his creativity and unconventional ideas.
Fumbling over the keypad, getting frustrated by the amount of failures he put in the wrong code, Nicholas had resigned himself to rotting on the ground until he was sober enough to enter his borrowed house. He wiped his sweaty face with his sleeve clearing the phantom drool falling from his mouth. Sliding his hands across his slacks haphazardly, he searched for his phone. Not in his pants pockets. He checked his suit jacket where he found it resting inside the inner lining, he turned it on. Blinking as he adjusted to the brightness, he checked the messages received yesterday evening, before they announced the 100 mil achievement.
Ian: The frame didn't withstand the 6.5 mag Richter test. It was a delayed result but the building fell in the end. Well done Toppy, especially after the last earthquake measuring a solid 7.
Ian: Construction precisely to your model in Taiwan begins next week.
Ian: Another project coming your way, bridges in Bangladesh. Celebrate your 300,000 in the meantime.
The screen began blinking due to the strength Nicholas was putting into his grip. This is not what he wanted to be doing with his life, adding flaws to his designs, watching them fail then collecting thanks. He cracked the screen against the floor, staring at his door in disgust. He dragged himself to his feet and unsteadily made his way back down the stairs.
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Short Stories
HumorA collection of short stories, none are meant to be connected to each other. If any resemble a work of fiction you have read or watched, that was unintentional. Maybe I saw it too and this is an expression of that subconscious influence. Everything...
