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The Grill

(Actual dream)

By Véronique Racine Published 3 months ago 2 min read

The house was big and filled with men armed with guns, the bodyguards of the important man we had come to visit.

I was no one, of course, just the (unofficial) bodyguard of my friend, who was famous enough to get such offers to endorse products in exchange for remuneration. But he trusted me with his safety, knowing I had his best interest at heart.

The product in question was a mystery to me, but who was I to judge SouthEast Asian cuisine needs?

A date grill, a flame upon which you grilled a date before dipping it in a sort of sauce. I didn't see the point, but it wasn't my place to comment on those things, I was just there to make sure he didn't lose his way to the exit... which he more often than not did.

But my ' boss' was having a hard time making said grill work, the flame kept weakening... He made a good show of grilling a date, dipping it in sauce and eating it ( he was an actor after all) but he quickly got frustrated at the poor quality of the appliance.

He shut it off a bit rageously, looking upset. " I cannot endorse this, it must be a joke. It doesn't work. Now excuse me, I have to ... "

He brushed past me and the rich entrepreneur who had invited him; from his expression I guessed he had somewhere to be very urgently... to make sure he did not soil his Armani suit.

I sighed and played with one of the dates, wondering if I should eat it. It was big and looked sweet and tasty but I was also thinking about leaving the creepy house as soon as possible, now that the 'deal' was off.

" He has to endorse, " the promoter told me with strange intensity.

" Look, how can he? Your crap doesn't work, " I said with my usual charm and tact.

" He HAS to, " the man insisted, and something about his tone. That look in his eyes. I knew exactly what had happened.

I dropped the date in horror and ran off to find my boss as quickly as I could. He had climbed up the stairs so I went four at a time, kicking open the door to the bathroom.

He was on the floor, covered in sweat, looking incapable of doing more than struggling feebly. In a bad way... and I was responsible, I should have seen it coming.

" What is wrong with me? " he asked in a pained whisper.

" You were poisoned, " I said in his ear, having hunkered down to get my arms around his chest and heave him up.

" I will get you out of here, " I promised, although the house was three storeys high and there were about 50 armed guards and too many stairs between us and freedom. He was a deadweight, incapable of helping himself, and how long did he have left before the poison killed him?

A snowball in hell had a better chance than him to escape alive...

But I would still try.

surreal poetry

About the Creator

Véronique Racine

I am a hobby writer who adores science fiction and intelligent characters and storylines!

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  • Derek3 months ago

    Shouldn't it be in the crazy nightmare section.

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