HighOnPoker's Stories

Protecting the Movement

2008-05-14T15:30:47Z

I finished my cup of coffee and made an excuse to leave the room. I had a lot to do before the recognition luncheon. First on my list was to hide all fo my contraband. This was trickier than it sounded.

As soon as I rounded the corner, I picked up my pace. I pulled out my communicator and reached my wife on the other line.

“Move everything. It’s time.”

If the Corporation had its way, it would know all of my secrets after the “promotion” was completed. I needed to stop the promotion, but barring that, I needed to get my family to safety.

This contingency had been discussed more than once. My wife had specific instructions to gather our belongings, particularly anything regarding the Movement, and leave. She knew where to go and had people to help her, none of which were known to me. The Movement was more important than me or my family. It had to be protected, especially from the techs who operated the promotion facilities. Once the process began, I would have no more secrets.

What To Do With a Stuffed Mother

2008-05-07T22:30:20Z

“Well, it’s interesting,” Jonah said to his wife. He cocked his head as he tried to take in the site of his freshly stuffed mother-in-law, Jane.

“I thought you’d like it. It’s infinitely better than your usual trophies.” Jonah’s wife motioned to the various stuffed creatures around the room.

“What…” Jonah searched for the right words. “What are you planning on doing with it?” He looked toward his wife. She never cut her gaze from her mother, and her mother never cut her gaze back.

Jonah’s wife paused. “I’m going to keep it,” she seemed somewhat confused herself. “Mother would’ve wanted it this way.” And with that, she turned and exited the room.

Jonah stood there alone with the corpse mother-in-law, staring at her dead eyes. “At least Wooly got that right,” he thought. He turned away and slowly walked out of the room. As he turned the corner, he saw something moving in the corner of his eye, but it must’ve been the curtains. Nothing else would’ve moved in that room.

Message in a Bottle

2008-05-07T18:26:52Z

As I stare at the paper, my mind races. I bite my lip in an effort to stifle the urge to scream. It all started eight months ago. I had enough fo my life at the Office. Days stretched endlessly into one another. And then, it began. My office subterfuge.

It started out harmlessly enough. I was bored, as usual, as I prepared to send an interoffice envelope to Suzie Secretary or some other employee. These envelopes are constantly reused. Cross out the last recipient’s name, write in the new recipient, drop it in a basket, and sometime in the next 30 minutes to 8 hours, a mail room clerk will pick it up and delivery it. Then that recipient will cross out their name and re-use the envelope at their leisure.

As I stood there, I saw the blank between Suzie’s name and Annie from Accounting. I quickly wrote in “A. Kournikova” and under floor, “69” with my blue Bic. I took my red Papermate and crossed it out . Suddenly, Ms. Kournikova was just another person in the interoffice mail chain. If only I stopped there.