Bullet Show
Revenge is a dish best served cold... and possibly from the inside of a lunch bag.
The water cooler gargles from around the corner of my cubical. Paula—the Marxist who somehow remained in corporate for forty years—abruptly stops typing.
“Now?” she mouths.
I adjust my necktie and smack my lips. I nod.
Matt, my happy hour go-to, pops his head above the cubical barrier.
Paula’s eyes widen as I stand up and shuffle across the rough blue carpet that seems to floor every office building. Matt lifts his fist in solidarity. I jut to the left, then right, and into the break room.
I skip to the refrigerator, open the door, and fumble the zipper of a bright turquoise lunch bag—ladybugs printed on it.
I reach inside and my fingers curl around the device.
I pull out Stacy’s bullet vibrator from the bag where a sandwich should have been. I stuff it into my pocket.
Sucking in the side of my cheek, I pace toward Stacy’s empty desk and place her toy on her keyboard. I dart back toward my cubical.
Sleeping with the boss in exchange for receiving your coworkers’ raises deserves a token of recognition.
About the Creator
Ashley
Hello,
I'm a writer based in Portland, Oregon. Feminist-focused.
Instagram: @ashleyleap
Thank you for reading!
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments (1)
Ashley is not accepting comments at the moment
Want to show your support? Become a pledged subscriber or send them a one-off tip.