You are small, a tiny little man with a too-big ego and a volume problem.
Yet somehow your insecurities choke you when I speak, whispering "incompetent" so the word echoes around in your brain until you think I said it.
The first to leave said it best. We are in a cycle of abuse and only walking away can break it,
so my hands are up, resignation in, last day worked, and even after I have backed away, I hear you blaming me for your mistakes again.
Put the words in my mouth, and I might as well say them.
You're bad at your job, Joshy-boy, and I am sleeping soundly again in my freedom from you.
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More stories from Kay Husnick and writers in Poets and other communities.
Spectating
I can't imagine dying like this, in a place like this; on a cold, dirty pavement with rush hour traffic screaming by and a crowd looking on while paramedics struggle to find space to move. Who could? Deep down we all think there should be a reason, a moment of clarity... or a family presence, at least. For this man, this boy, the rail thin woman lighting a cigarette in a faux fur jacket will have to do - she's been here since the start, her eyes tracking the movement of my shoulders as we fight to keep him on the right side of the line.
By S. A. Crawford5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
I am so tempted to write a letter like this to a few people at my job, too!
Soooo glad you resigned! That guy is sp toxic!