Ficlets

Reinhardt cursed and fumed. Lorencz was so fired once Reinhardt got up the nerve, and that was ironic, eh? A man who mocked God and cursed parochial Science, who controlled the forces of Life itself (five times so far, six if you counted the sea monkeys when he was ten) – and he was all but incapable of firing people.

(The idea of going through the hiring process terrified him. He hated HR things so much, he’d once hired two hunchbacks just so he wouldn’t have to tell one he wasn’t hired; fortunately, the extra hunchback ate the other and died of cramps during the two-week trial period, so Reinhardt got the equivalent of a month’s work without signing a single paycheck.)

The cause of Reinhardt’s latest bout of curses this dark and stormy night was the pounding on the front door. Lorencz was supposed to get it, but was busy stuttering at the Abomination.

It was probably villagers. He didn’t care. If they had an extra pitchfork, he’d ask to borrow it and lead the charge up the tower stair himself.