Worst job ever- Now write a fictional story about it!
This isn’t part of any contest and is simply for fun. Contemplate on the worst job you could possibly think of doing and then write a story about it in five hundred words or less (not too short though). It can be horror, comedy, or anything else that will make it entertaining to read about. Just do your best to emphasize why that job would be such an awful one to have. Also, it doesn’t have to be a human job, it could be about a particular object and the dirty job it has to do. I will look forward to seeing what you all come up with.
Just to start things off, here is the story I wrote:
This Life is Not For Me
It has been a year since they put me in this hell hole. Just to ensure I could never escape, they tacked me down. Oh, the injustice of it all!
Every day “they” test my resilience and strength. The worst being the smaller ones called “children” who are of an evil beyond compare. Oh, sure, they weigh less, but that is no real consolation. The little buggers spill Kool-Aid on me and stain my beautiful beige exterior. Let us not even mention the other damage they do. It is too traumatic to recite. Every time the damage is done, one of the bigger ones comes along and scrubs me until I ache, trying to get the offending substance off. Oh, the inhumanity.
It gets worse, there is also this creature they call a dog. It causes the worst damage, leaving liquid gifts on my exterior that result in the most vile and offending smells you can imagine. There is nothing for it, as I cannot get away. The tacking continues to hold me fast. Eventually, one of the big ones discovers this as well and more rough scrubbing follows. They can never get it all off though. The padding they placed me on cannot be reached and so I must lay on this soiled bed for how many more years, I know not.
Sometimes, there are large gatherings of the hated creatures. During those I’m trampled on without mercy. I must bear their weight silently, praying for it to end soon. Many torturous hours pass before I can breathe a sigh of relief after all but the regulars have left. Of course, they are too tired to tend to me then. All night I’m left with the filth they covered me in. If I’m lucky, or not, depending on how you look at it, the next day they will come clean me up with a very loud and ear screeching machine that even the dog hates. I cringe and bear it until the experience is over, praying for deliverance from this awful job that was handed down to me.
They think I’m nothing more than decoration. Something soft for their feet to tread on, but I’m so much more. If only they knew! My cries for help go unheard. Not even the dog notices. Why couldn’t I be placed in a museum with fancy poles to protect me from these horrid creatures? Oh, how I envy those who get such a nice position. Here I lay, under-appreciated and with no respect for the important job I do.
Maybe someday they will realize my worth and give me an award for my valiant efforts in this life. Though no doubt, it would be received posthumously!
*For those of you who may be wondering, the August writing contest will begin next week. I will post the details on August 23rd.