On Your Shoulder

Smokey Saga #58: "On Your Shoulder"

*****

Here's another story I originally wrote as a theater play to get produced on stage. Well, that didn't happen, but I was always very fond of this funny little fairy-tale, and the upside is, I can now redo it as an erotic story. There'll be about a quarter of a sex scene in the middle and a full one at the end. I hope you'll find it worth waiting for, 'cause there's a lot of content here. And in case you're unaware, I'm only writing lesbian stories at this time; sorry, hetero-/androphiles. This is sci-fi/fantasy and also lesbian sex. The story—or script, rather—was originally written in 2008, hence the setting. Also, like my other Saga that was first penned as a play, this will switch narratives between first- and third-person. Like usual, italics here denote the intro, bold is the protagonist's first-person narration, and the bold italics are the individual segment titles and settings. We'll start with our main character's first monologue, her initial in parentheses. Enjoy, and as always, your feedback is highly valued and appreciated.

*****

(P) Hi there. You're looking dapper. Y'know, our whole system of morals and values can really get flipped on its head sometimes. When we're growing up, people try to teach us right from wrong. But what they don't tell us is that sometimes the "wrong" path is the only path to survival. At some point during our formative years, the barriers between good and evil break down, and the thin line gets blurred beyond recognition.

My name's Poppy Sorenson. I never thought of myself as a bad or evil person before. I never really thought much about morality at all, in fact. Maybe that's just what happens when we become grown-ups. We tend to lose the innocence and idealism we were instilled with. That's what happened to me. I'm in my 30s now, but I lost my inner child when I was 15.

This is my office. Well, it used to be my office. At the moment I'm sitting Native American-style on my old desk. Up until a while ago, I was employed at SuCo Industries, occupying the awful position of Corporate Killer. In the most basic terms, I fired people for a living. Yep. I was her—that terrifying lady down in the office of doom, where they send you when you know you've screwed up just a touch too much. That wicked witch...was yours truly.

And I loved every damn—oops...'scuse me—darn second of it.

I did. I was a cold-hearted, sadistic devil. I was a snake, a creep, a rat, a slime ball, just you name it. But less believable still, I was completely oblivious. That is, until something...happened to me. I know how impossible it is, and all I can say is that I swear it's true. I remember every detail. At the start of what would be my last week at SuCo Industries, one cold frosty November day...I heartlessly axed a sweet, innocent girl called Suzy.

C'mon along with me. It'll be all right. Promise.

*****

Pop Blows The Whistle

Monday, November 10th, 2008, 12:23 p.m.

It was a chilly autumn afternoon in downtown Juniper, Minnesota. The temperature floated around 40°F, cold falling leaves and whistling winds reigned over by precipitating skies. Festive retailers, done with costumes and candy, brought out the turkeys and Stove Top, with toys, gifts and wreaths next in line. Students and laborers carried on with an extra bounce in their step, looking forward to grand holiday celebrations. And another week of staggering business was underway at SuCo Industries.

SuCo was a thirty-five-year old corporate giant for whom production was a number-one concern. In competition with fierce longstanding rivals, they had to maintain a cutthroat ethic. They were always on the lookout for qualified personnel, and known to hire a wide surplus of individuals—even those with little or no experience. Unfortunately, herein lay the "glitch," so to speak. While they could use as many proficient workers as they could find, SuCo standards of proficiency were less than concrete. They often took on just a few too many employees to maintain their precious balance. It was survival of the fittest.

Unproductive laborers—so deemed by the company, via either accident or intent—were treated to a bite of harsh reality. Under scrutinizing superior eyes, only the strongest thrived. Stepping into the doors of SuCo Industries was a massive roll of the proverbial dice. There was room and opportunity for growth, and for the truly dedicated, lavishly rewarding careers may just lie in wait. But there were no guarantees. The glitch in the hiring system (exposure of which would undermine SuCo's stature) eradicated job security, for even those who tried their best. The next recipient of this smack in the face was on her way down to the office of Miss Poppy Sorenson.

Suzy Cooper took a few breaths before she turned the knob. She and other entry-level workers heard things about the woman behind this intimidating door. But she couldn't be sure till witnessing for herself. She cautiously opened it, and peeked inside to see not one but two women sitting behind the desk. The one to her left looked up.

"Suzy Cooper?"

The timid girl nodded, slipping inside. She couldn't help but notice neither of the women appeared very welcoming. In fact, they looked frankly hostile. She also observed just how loud and creaky the door was. Could use a little oiling in the hinges, she thought. The other woman gestured to the chair facing them.

"Shut the door and have a seat, Miss Cooper."

Well, it's Mrs., actually, thought Suzy, but she somehow didn't see this mattering a great deal. She did as they said.

For a bit, no one said anything. Suzy's eyes shifted between them as they robotically glared at her. They were attempting to make her as uncomfy as possible. And succeeding. Finally, the woman on her left spoke again.

"...Thank you for coming down, Miss Cooper."

"Um, I'd prefer Suzy, actually, please," she said, feeling this a more tactful choice than correcting them with her married title.

"Very well; Suzy."

Suzy nodded, trying to keep her breathing under control. She had an ominous feeling whatever was going on wasn't good.

"Now," continued Poppy, her first hostess. She sorted and shifted papers, giving Suzy the illusion that she and the other woman had additional things to do. She went on, low and slow, trying to make Suzy sweat.

"As you know, Suzy, here at SuCo Industries, production is our number-one concern.

"Unfortunately, it has come to our attention..."

Oh, dear, the poor girl thought with a gulp. "It has come to our attention"—the six scariest words in the clerical office profession, preceded right by number seven: "Unfortunately." Suzy already knew she was going to hate this.

"...That an issue has arisen concerning your performance."

Suzy's heart accelerated. Perspiration materialized under her bangs. She hoped to heaven she wasn't in trouble, but was about 90% sure this hope was in vain. She opened her mouth to try to answer, but wasn't granted the chance.

"It seems your productivity has fallen an average of eight percent, in a single month."

Suzy felt her eyes reflexively widen, her mouth speechlessly ajar. The other woman, Tammy, stepped in.

"Were you aware of this, Suzy?"

Suzy vehemently shook her head, trying to convey her sincere obliviousness.

"Well, I...no, no, I wasn't," she answered meekly. "I'm...I'm doing the best I can. I-I always have been, since I started here."

"Now, Suzy, in addition to your orientation, you've had several training sessions with your supervisors, have you not?" asked Poppy.

"Um...yes..."

"Supervisors who took the time out of their already busy schedules working with you personally, to help boost your progress," Tammy admonished. "And instead of increasing, the quality of your work has done only the opposite."

Suzy was genuinely thrown for a loop. "...Well, I...had...I-I had no idea," she told them.

"Yes, well, be that as it may, Suzy," Poppy went on, "All of this having been said, as things stand at this point..."

Suzy teemed with trepidation as she felt her fate being sealed. And she was right.

"...I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go."

There it was. The confirmation. Suzy's gasp came out just before her face fell.

"Oh, no, wait, please!" she begged. "There...th-there-there must be something I can do! Give-give me another chance! Please!"

The two women behind the desk just shook their heads once more.

"Suzy, I'm afraid you've already had all the chances you'll be getting with us," said Tammy. "I'm sorry; our decision is final."

Suzy couldn't believe it. "But, I-I...I didn't even know!" she exclaimed, her voice starting to crack. "Please, you can't do this to me! I need this job! I'll lose my insurance, and my husband's unemployment just ran out! What'll I do??"

Poppy let out a sigh. "Suzy, don't make this more difficult than it is. Again, we're very sorry. We'll be providing you two weeks' severance pay. You may take all the time you need to clean out your cubicle, and you'll then be escorted out."

Suzy watched through welling eyes as Miss Poppy Sorenson and the other woman—whatever her name was—returned to their "paperwork." Not even looking back up at her, Poppy finally announced, "That will be all, Suzy. You're dismissed."

The crestfallen girl let her head drop. One hand over her mouth, she rose from the chair and started back to the noisy door. She supposed the things she and her co-workers had heard about the infamous Miss Sorenson were true after all. But she also supposed if she spread the word to surviving workmates, Miss Sorenson and her crony here could make things tough on her, past even this point. As she'd lamented to the two of them, she couldn't handle life being more trying just now. And she didn't want to let emotion get the better of her, but a small, audible weep still escaped.

"And Suzy?" she heard.

Much as she hated to let them see they'd made her cry, Suzy somberly turned back around. Her tear-blurred vision made it hard to determine who said the next sentence, but she heard each word loud and clear.

"Rest assured your future potential employers will be given a favorable reference."

Suzy nodded, turned back around, sniffled, wiped her nose, and solemnly departed. She left their door open, so after a few moments Tammy got up from her seat, took a peek outside, shut it, and brought her voice to full volume.

"In her dreams!" she chuckled, clapping off her hands.

"Ha ha ha!" Poppy grinned and laughed devilishly. "And another sucker bites the dust!"

"Yep," Tammy returned to her seat. "And the best part: watching 'em crawl outta here like worms on their bellies, thinking it's all their fault." She folded her arms behind her head, throwing her feet up onto the desk. "Y'know, maybe we should tell one of 'em the truth: we just need to...'lighten the load' a little."

Poppy shrugged. "Yeah...but where's the fun in that?" They shared another malicious laugh. "Next victim!"

The diabolical duo was normally treated to axing an individual worker, sending her or him packing every couple hours or so. As the company was apt to take employees on by the truckloads, it was as quick to weed through unsuitables and cut them loose. So between callous terminations, they sifted documentation, determining what to keep and what to dispose of. This left them still copious extra time, during which Tammy met with department heads for progress updates. Poppy stayed in the office, taking calls and keeping the computer system up to date. A bit later, Tammy left to go on her next round.

By herself in the shut office, Poppy picked up her nameplate to read the fancy serif letters. If met with the question as to why exactly she and Tammy took such delight in telling victims to beat it—or keeping them on edge with their unoiled door's squeaking and creaking—she'd be a bit stymied for an answer. She supposed she chalked it up to being a survivor in a cold, cruel world. As long as SuCo kept bringing folks aboard by the boatloads, she and Tammy had job security, unlike those on the other side of their desk. Hey, she'd reason, she and Tam needed to eat, and roofs over their heads as well. And, schadenfreude. Lots, and lots of schadenfreude. The heartless, but simple and logical "better you than me" philosophy.

Her nameplate bore thirteen letters with a space in between. Poppy's middle name bluntly embarrassed her, and remained a secret to almost everyone. She read and embellished out loud—

"'Poppy Sorenson'...Corporate Killer."

While adding the job title to the nameplate would be even more satisfying, it would send a premature signal to their victims, confirming for sure what was about to happen. And Poppy and Tammy couldn't have that; why, it would spoil their fun. She returned the nameplate to its spot, stretched her arms, closed her eyes, and smiled.

"God, I love my job."

She was just about to go on updating the computer system when something...very unusual happened. Poppy heard a sound she'd never heard before...an alternating ascending and descending scale of...

Harp music?

It seemed to fade in from one side of the office and out towards the other. Another moment later, it was gone. Poppy looked up in utter bewilderment, eyes darting back and forth. She listened, but heard nothing more.

...Ohhh-kay...that was one of the weirder things I've heard lately...

She checked the time, subsequently picking up a small voice recorder.

"Note to self: switch to decaf after twelve."

The next moment presented an indecipherable knock on her office door. Poppy looked up, unsure who this was. Tammy never knocked, and their next termination victim wasn't due for another while yet.

"'S open."

The otherwise noisy door silently flew ajar, and something no less than a flourish swept in. Into the office pirouetted a lass Poppy's age, though her appearance gave the impression she was about twelve. She had long, fluffy hair, a light bright top, denim overalls and rainbow-colored sandals. Despite the less than ideal footwear, she proceeded to dance around the office, sticking a tasteful landing with a modest bow. After she stopped moving, Poppy stared wordlessly for a few more bemused seconds. She picked up the voice recorder again.

"Cancel that; switch to decaf, period." She stood to greet this bizarre creature who had just ballet'd her way in.

"Yes? May I...uh...help you, ma'am?"

Her visitor was all smiles and twirls, turning another 360° on one of her rubber soles. She was the polar opposite of Poppy: undeterredly bubbly, bouncy and cheerful.

"Oh, it is such a beautiful day!" the guest gushed, throwing her arms as if to hug the air. She hopped on her toes, embracing nothing. "Isn't it just the most wonderful day??"

The disinterested Poppy was nauseated by such merriment, but remained professional.

"Uh, yes, it is quite a nice day," she muttered, as a mere throwaway. "Is...there something I can do for you, Miss...?"

"Oh!" Poppy was treated to yet another gleeful twirl. "You may call me...Anastasia!"

For some reason that seemed to ring a bell, but Poppy wasn't sure why. Wasn't that a character in an old fairy tale or something? At any rate, Poppy hadn't inclination to find out. She obligatorily sauntered around the desk and offered her hand.

"Uh-huh...Poppy Sorenson."

Anastasia forewent the handshake and flung her arms around Poppy, squeezing extra tight until she about crushed her circulation. Poppy emitted a groan, unable to do much with her arms pinned under her visitor's. Her guest broke the hug, but didn't let go.

"Yes, I know," said Anastasia, holding on to Poppy's arms, smiling tenderly at her. "Oh, how I've missed you."

Aha; the plot thickened. Poppy was taken aback, but now thought maybe she could get a clue what was going on.

"Um...I'm sorry, have we met?"

"Oh!" Anastasia brushed a hand through the air. "Time, the sly boots! You knew me...in an era that once was."

Poppy was about to ask in an era that once was what, but her mind was growing consumed with this weird chick's touchy-feely-ness.

"You know, there're pretty strict guidelines about hugging in this off—"

"You embraced me in the wondrous wake of birth," Anastasia went on, staring into nothingness. "I ran by your side through the fleeting transience of childhood..."

She next reached to clasp both of Poppy's hands in her own.

"...And I held your hands as you embarked upon the tumultuous trek of adolescence."

Poppy was getting just a little freaked out. She worked up a smile, feigning politeness.

"Really?...Well, how disturbing. Um—" She slipped back around to behind her desk. "Is there, in fact, anything I can actually do for you today, Miss, uh...Anafantasia...?"

Anastasia approached, the desk still between them. Poppy surreptitiously sidled behind her chair as well, just to be on the safe side. Her visitor intoned, arms outstretched.

"The innocence of childhood...is but a winding corridor, to an eclipse...a portal, dividing the birth that is idealism..."

Her voice suddenly lowered and intensified.

"...And the death that is jaded...indifferent...malice."

Poppy gazed blankly, frankly ready for the weirdo to go away now. She nodded quarter-heartedly.

"Yes, well, there's the door, eh, Drizella; don't let it smack ya in the ass on the way out."

Accustomed to giving folks the boot, Poppy felt satisfied to have a seat, and return to her work. But her guest wasn't ready to go just yet. She stayed put.

"I see that I shall have to make the purchase of my presence nakedly clear."

Poppy's eyes remained elsewhere. "Hey, you wanna talk dirty, take it outside."

"I'm very serious, Poppy," Anastasia stated intently. "From this moment on, you will ignore me no longer."

Poppy sighed, becoming highly exasperated.

"Look, I'm-I'm very busy here, Anaconda. Why don't you go...fly a kite, or something."

The mystery visitor refused to give up. "You once turned to me for guidance, Poppy. Whenever in doubt, I helped you. I was your moral compass. It was I, Poppy...who, in your formative years...told you to do the right thing."

Poppy ceased her activities midway through this little speech. It seemed an epiphany had struck. She nodded sardonically.

"...Oh, I see where we're headed with this..."

Anastasia smiled. "That's right, Poppy..."

She flung out her arms to the sides once more, for her umpteenth twirl. She chirped the next three enigmatic words, in the most angelically sweet voice.

"...I'm your conscience."

Poppy nodded, serving up a saucy grin. She decided to treat this as the joke it so obviously was.

"Allllll right, I get it..." she smirked. "Okay, where's the camera?" She got up and traversed the office, as if looking for hidden devices. "Huh?...What'd you do, bring a whole crew in here?" She opened the door and peeked out. "Yoo-hoo! Hello there! Good one!" She flung it shut and whipped back around on Anastasia. "C'mon, what is this, America's Dopiest Home Videos?"

Anastasia shook her head, the beatific smile irremovably plastered on her face.

"I jest you not, Poppy." She began to sound like an unsolicited lecturer. "You have shut me out of your life for long enough, and I have returned today..." She paused for effect.