Breaking Eggs
A struggling young clerk has an encounter that deviates from the gloomy norm.
This one is probably meh, but I'll try to do better. Feeling fresher about the next thing I'm working on, though I feel bad for not biting it and forcing myself to polish this one more. Sorry about that.
This was supposed to be a quick little exercise featuring a character from a larger thing I was working on, but it was on and off the shelf since January. I'm trying to see some balance between quality and quantity(regarding my submission frequency) so that I may start working towards bringing the two in a combination. Sorry about that.
"You're staying late, by the way, and the beets better be stocked by morning," Blanche squawked.
"Yes Mr. Blanche," Franklin said. He finished counting the register's money and nicked his pad wrestling its drawer shut.
"And don't you dare stuff that in your pockets; I already get enough thieves: someone's been stealing the get-well cards!"
"Sorry to hear that sir," Franklin lied. A drop of his blood hit the coin in the donation jar before he could wrap the wound.
The boss kicked a herd of dust balls. "Did your friend quit because she was afraid to sweep?"
"No, sir."
"What about the latrine? Have you cleaned the latrine today?"
"Sir...the plumbers- "
Blanche threw a hand up. "And you say you're here for a wage!"
"Yes, sir..."
"Try harder to look like it," the goose snapped, looking to the window. Franklin noticed as well: two silhouettes coming down the cross street. "Ring 'em up if they're buying, then get busy. Don't leave before you're finished, you hear me?"
"Yes," the terrier mumbled, but Blanche scoffed and hobbled to the aisles.
The clerk pulled the locket from his trousers - the only gift Mother could afford for the holiday - and looked at her photo in its faux ruby casing. The photo that got him out of bed on time, when his eyes burned to remain shut, and kept him clocking in on all lightless mornings. The photo keeping him from casting off his apron for the last time. If she could be as healthy now as then...
The visitors pushed into the store, admitting the harrowing chill of a day without sun or goodwill.
"Hey folks," Franklin said. "We're about to close but call if you wanna buy." The wolf gave him a weird look and muttered in the collie's ear on their way to the aisles. Franklin dared a small respite, after which he headed to the storage room - it was getting late.
There were more splinters than cans. Ah- Mr. Lappman hadn't delivered this week; likely the poor goat caught the bug too. Franklin would have to remind Mr. Blanche, though the man would probably expect him to retrieve the truckload himself. He'd sweep instead.
He had the broom for half a second when a jagged scream struck the store and shocked it from his grasp. His nerves bristled as he listened and moved to the door's window: the store rimmed the foreboding aura of a crime committed but invisible. The phone was at the register...
He crept from the storage room. The aisles hid the murderers that would do to him what they did to the late Mr. Blanche. The temperature dropped two hundred degrees around him when a tin can's rolling echoed in another aisle.
"Found 'im."
Franklin went blind. The pain coursed his nerves so harshly that he thought they'd been glowing as hazed vision fed back the world, not that he was relieved to see a store one hundred sizes too large and two paws weighing an unimaginable amount on the tiles in front of him.
"Did you?" someone barked.
"Check 'im out, Roe."
The collie was down the aisle before he was on his paws and snatched him before he could be. The grip could've been half as loose and still felt like his heart had no room to beat. He couldn't see through the vice, but was shortly decided fit to be dumped on the dead conveyor belt at the register.
"He does look young, Clayton."
"Yup. Timid too," the wolfess said. It was like he amused her. "That's rightly a shame then, ain't it?"
Franklin quivered himself sore. He was dead. Deader than the late Mr. Blanche. He choked up his voice. "W-why is it a shame..." he rasped with his dusty throat.
"Well," the collie started with mock sincerity, "your boss isn't doing so well." She unfurled her other hand and showed him a tiny goose.
"Mr. Blanche..." Franklin whispered.
"Mhmm. Not a healthy man, is he?" She brought Blanche closer to give him a disgusting look: Blanche's body was wounded nearly beyond all recognition. Where his feathers weren't saturated with his own blood he was hilled by bruises so large that Franklin thought he had the body of a horrific monster. He didn't have the behavior of a monster - at least, not anymore: he had the behavior of a creature hanging by a thread from his own life. Weak heaving in his gut looked like he was still drawing breath.
The collie sounded disappointed in asking, "Still breathing?" She licked most blood from him in one stroke, but his gashes drizzled in generous streaks. She held her claw tip to his throat and a spurt of red gurgled out and rolled down his cheek.
"D-don't..." Franklin barely uttered.
"Hm?" came the canine, sweetly. "Why not?"
He was too numb to start an answer.
"Courtesy of an 'old friend', Blanche. Nothing personal," said the wolfess.
Blanche struggled lifelessly against the collie's hold and turned an uglier violet the longer she held. With another spurt of blood he stopped moving instantly, and the collie brought her muzzle down to bite him up and grind his corpse from the world.
"Mmh. Way juicier than that goat," the collie grunted through rude smacks. Blood flowed over her lips but few drops escaped her chin fur.
"Must be nice," the wolfess huffed.
Franklin didn't scream. His throat locked up and he choked on his gut's urge to vomit. The convulsions made him water at the eyes as he struggled to keep balance on all fours.
"Check 'im out again, Roe. He's scared sick."
"So?" Roe replied as she licked her lips.
"Poor little guy, ain't he?"
"What's your point? He's going to die, if it that's what you mean."
"...I didn't do anything..." Franklin whimpered, coming to tears.
"You're a witness."
"I didn't mean to be..."
"Not good enough," Roe replied as she plucked him up and examined him with fingers that reeked with the miasma of blood, saliva, and cigarettes that brought him to the brink of vomiting. "Were you working late?" she demanded.
"Yes! I swear, I was just trying to finish so I could make it home..."
"I dunno, Roe. I'd feel better knowing the kid at least had a chance."
"Maybe," the collie growled as she set him down and pulled the coin from the donation jar. "But I'll leave it to chance alone," she stated coldly. "Heads, and his comes off."
She flicked it into the air and Franklin felt dizzy. This was not the last day in this place he'd dreamt about. The coin landed with a tumbling clack.
Franklin didn't see the verdict before he passed out.